


Merlin's Secret

by Hisa_Ai



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Choices, Confessions, Danger, Difficulties, F/F, F/M, Family, Friendship, Love, M/M, Magic, Magic Reveal, Manipulation, Multi, Quests, Revelations, Revenge, Romance, Secrets, Trouble, changes, fight, hardship, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:12:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hisa_Ai/pseuds/Hisa_Ai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has no choice but to reveal his magic to Arthur when faced with a dire situation. But how does the prince take things? How will it change their relationship and the future of the kingdom?</p><p>"Still looking at Arthur, still maintaining eye contact, he let his eyes flash golden, let Arthur see him for who he truly was."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reveal

**Author's Note:**

> A few things you should know about this fic before we start in on the fun stuff: Arthur is still Prince, Uther is obviously not dead, Morgana is evil but no one but Merlin and Gaius know, but Elyan, Percival, Gwaine, and Lancelot are all knights, aaaand that's about it. For now. If there's anything else I feel you should know about this fic, I will let you know as soon as I think you need to know it.
> 
> Oh, and trigger warning: there are mentions, threats of rape in this chapter. So if you can't handle that sort of thing, I'd turn back now. There's nothing graphic, it's only talk, and it's a very brief part, but I thought I should warn you anyway, just in case it's a triggering subject for any of you lot.

 

* * *

 

It had all happened  _so fast._

One second, Arthur and Merlin were running through the woods, having been separated from the knights in an ambush led by Cenred's men, the next they found themselves surrounded by some of the very men who had cut them off from the knights, having no idea how there were so many of them or how they had found them so quickly; how they had gotten past them and had been able to get into place like that without either of them noticing.

But none of that mattered once the hostile, almost blood-thirsty men were around the pair.

Arthur pulled his sword out and pressed his back against Merlin's. Merlin had no weapon of his own— _why_  didn't Arthur insist on getting him his own sword when they were getting ready to head out that morning? They had been caught often enough like this that he knew it was necessary, that even with Merlin's limited combat training he could handle himself well enough with a decent sword if it came to it, that it would be bloody  _useful_  for Merlin to have a weapon of some sort—and there was  _no way_  Arthur could protect both himself and Merlin from all these men. He could try, but there was just no way he would succeed.

As the men glared at the pair, jeered at them, threatened them, wondered aloud what to do with them, Arthur scanned between them, searching for a weak spot of any sort, for an opening for Merlin to break through and take cover, get himself some place safe while Arthur... Well, while Arthur did what needed to be done.

"Got anything to say for yerselves, boys?" A bulky knight with tangled hair and a mangled face nearest Arthur asked, his twisted grin making Arthur's blood boil. He had faced this man many times before, had injured him, had narrowly escaped death by him, had killed many of his comrades in fights and battles and raids and games and in any other matters when Arthur's people were in danger and protection was required. He knew this man far too well, and knew that if he were here, it meant little chance of them escaping without harm. If they got out with their lives they would be too lucky.

"Look," Arthur sighed at last, finding that their grip on the boys was far too tight for Merlin to have a second to escape, and they were far too out-numbered for Arthur to do much with his sword alone. And since desperate times called for desperate matters, he could only try one thing. Just  _one thing_  to attempt to save Merlin's life. He knew it had little chance of working, but... He had to  _try_  at least. "You've got a bone to pick with me, but... let my servant  _go_ ," he said slowly at last.

Merlin gasped, surely about to open that big mouth of his to protest, but Arthur jabbed him in the back with his elbow, he would not have him ruining the plan, he would not have that idiot risking his life.

The knight that addressed Arthur before—Sir Liwry, Arthur was sure he was called—let out a sound between a scoff and a chortle. His demand was not well received, so it seemed, but Arthur was sure he could reason with these men—with Liwry, at least. He had a manservant of his own, after all, and while he was probably not the best master in the kingdom—certainly not as nice as Arthur was to Merlin—Arthur was sure he would want his servant let go in a situation such as this.

Maybe.

"And why would we do that?" Liwry asked, his sword still poised, his grip still tight, his muscles still ready to go. Arthur bit his lip before answering.

"Because your problem is with me, not my servant. He has never wronged you in the ways that I have," he said evenly.

"Arthur, don't—" Merlin hissed under his breath at last, his voice tight with what Arthur could only assume was a clenched jaw. He was scared. And Arthur was going to make it right, was going to keep Merlin safe if it was the last thing he did.

"Shut up, you  _girl_. You want out with your life, don't you?"

"Not if it costs you yours,"

"I can handle myself, you on the other hand would die if left to fend them all off. At least  _I_  stand a chance."

"Not against this many. Not without your knights," Merlin shook his head, his hair brushing against Arthur's neck with the movement. Arthur shook his head back and brought his gaze back up to Liwry, who was watching the pair almost patiently. He always did like to toy with his opponent before finally striking the final blow. He was just dragging this out, hoping to watch Arthur's eyes fill with panic and fear. He was hoping he could make Arthur show the same weakness on the battle field that he himself had shown far too many times to still be alive.

Arthur would be damned if he gave Liwry that satisfaction.

"Let my manservant go," Arthur repeated, his voice still strong and unwavering.

"And what if I said no?" Liwry demanded, inching his sword closer to Arthur's face. Arthur let out a breath, letting Liwry only get so close because he held Merlin's Fate in his hands as well as his own.

"What would be the point?" Arthur asked after a beat, trying a different tactic. "He's but a servant who means less than dirt to the king, hardly worth your time when there are real knights of Camelot running around out here. Why waste your time on a mere palace boy the king wouldn't miss anyway? In fact," Arthur said, almost mischievous, "If you were to let a mere servant boy live while you killed the crowned prince of Camelot, don't you think that would rattle my father more than just killing me would? Why—he would be  _outraged,_ livid almost. He wouldn't be able to look Merlin in the eye ever again." Arthur almost laughed, hoping to get a rise out of the people surrounding him, hoping to get at least a few of them on his side. If he could get just  _one_  of these knights to agree with him, Merlin's life would not be lost, as the will of many was often swayed by the one.

"But you're over-looking one fine detail,  _Sire_ ," Liwry seethed sarcastically. Arthur's stomach churned at the look on his face, the look of a man who had already won a battle not even fought yet. The look of a man who had far too many tricks up his sleeve.

"And what would that be?" Arthur asked, curious. His father barely knew Merlin's name, he would not miss him if he were gone, Arthur knew, feeling a twinge of disappointment in his father. How could his father not care about Merlin? he wondered angrily. Merlin was a good servant, a good  _person_ , and for his father not to give a rat's ass about whether he lived or died—what kind of king  _was_   _that?_

No, he had over-looked nothing. His father would mourn Arthur and Arthur alone and leave Merlin's death to Gwen and Gaius, and the knights he had befriended over the years, and think nothing more of him.

"You, dear Arthur, care far too much for the boy," Liwry declared. Arthur gave him a curious look, his eyebrows poised with the question Liwry answered without prompt. "If we were to let him live, you would know a sense of peace in your death, and who would want a thing like that?" he asked, circling around the pair until he came to a stop in front of Merlin. He reached his sword out and tilted Merlin's chin up and then moved it to the sides, almost inspecting him.

Arthur heard Merlin's low sounds of discomfort, could feel his back tense against his own and felt a surge of panic, of anger, rise up in his veins. "Liwry, if you touch a hair on his head, I promise you I will—"

"Oh, relax, young Arthur, _I_  would never harm the boy. Cenred's guards, on the other hand, well, it's been a while since they had a prisoner as pretty as this one to keep them themselves  _busy."_  Liwry chuckled darkly, a few of his men joining in.

Arthur's blood ran cold and his heart itself seemed to growl in anger. There had been rumors, of course, of Cenred's men doing unspeakable things to their prisoners, things that Uther would have anyone in his kingdom hanged for, but they had only been rumors before.

Until now. Until Liwry threatened to have it done to Merlin.

Now it was  _real,_  now it was personal.

Jaw clenched as Liwry and a few of the surrounding men began to joke about the sort of things the guards would do to Merlin, Arthur moved at last and grabbed Liwry by the front of his chainmail. Merlin shot him a look as Liwry raised his sword and the men all came to attention, rushing forward to Liwry's aid.

Arthur was much too close to use his sword, as was Liwry, fortunately, and as the men swelled forward and he was certain his death was to come shortly, he raised his fist and pulled back, hitting Liwry's jaw with all the strength he could muster and letting him fall to the ground unconscious with the force of it.

Moving quickly, Arthur bent down and snatched Liwry's sword up, thrust it into Merlin's inexperienced hands and took his position at Merlin's back once again. Just before the men gathered closer around them and began to swing at them with all their might, Arthur hissed at Merlin quickly.

"Swing fast, strike hard, make every blow count, and try not to  _die_ ,"

Merlin simply nodded in response just before the men came at them, all of them swinging their swords at them at once, each of them trying to land death blows.

Arthur, of course, was able to counter and block most of the shots, only one or two getting past him and scratching his arms in several places, but Merlin was having much more difficulties, barely managing to avoid the blows and becoming filled with more wounds and injuries than Arthur.

As another sword got past Merlin and he was struck once again, Arthur, thusly gritting his teeth every time he heard a blow make contact and Merlin hiss in pain under his breath, heard a terrible ripping sound, heard Merlin cry out in pain and felt his shoulders slump ever so slightly.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked, not bothering to hide the worry in his voice. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, peachy," Merlin hissed back, regaining his footing and squaring his shoulders once more as he gripped his pilfered sword. "You know, aside from bleeding out of more than half of my body and the knights who want to kill or rape me—just.  _Peachy_." Merlin told him bitterly, bringing a small smile to Arthur's face as he slowly moved around, still blocking and countering everything that was thrown at him. His words at Arthur being filled with so much bite and sarcasm put the prince at ease for just a moment; as long as he was still able to give him such answers, Arthur knew he was all right.

In his mind, Arthur was trying to work out a plan. They couldn't keep this up forever—it was just the two of them, after all. Either the other knights were going to find them and come to their rescue, or they were going to succumb to them eventually, and die— _or worse_ , if Cenred's knights were serious about what they would have done to Merlin. There must have been some way to get away, to find an escape for Merlin at least, but how—

"Arthur," Merlin began suddenly, his voice tight, almost wary to Arthur's ears.

"Yeah, Merlin?" Arthur asked, trying not to become too distracted by Merlin's words.

"You trust me?"

"What?" Arthur asked, narrowly blocking a sure-to-be fatal blow as Merlin caught him off guard.

"Do you trust me?" Merlin repeated, his words punctuated with the sound of metal against metal and his shallow breath. He probably hadn't seen as much action in his life, Arthur was sure, and this was probably wearing thin on him. He would not be able to keep it up much longer. Arthur  _had_  to come up with a plan. And  _fast._

"'Course," Arthur threw over his shoulder too casually, the question was rather absurd in a situation as this, but he couldn't be bothered to wonder about it too much at the moment. More pressing matters at hand and all.

"Good. I'm glad." Merlin murmured, blocking a sword on his left with a sudden burst of, dare Arthur think it, the hopes of  _talent._

"What are you prattling on about?" Arthur mumbled back instead, his arms beginning to ache with every blow he blocked.

"Arthur," Merlin said again. "Whatever happens—"

"Don't—don't talk like that, Merlin. Everything is—"

"We are going to  _die_  unless someone does something."

"And what, you're supposed to be that someone?" Arthur snorted, trying to pass off some humor to balance out the fear he had heard in Merlin's voice. He would not let Merlin die—what didn't he understand about that?

"Look, Arthur—"

"No, you look—"

"No, Arthur,  _look."_ Merlin insisted suddenly, catching Arthur's attention and throwing it to just near them where Liwry was stirring, pulling himself to his feet and making his way towards the pair.

Arthur swallowed and swore under his breath. He could handle a bunch of men coming at him and Merlin, none of them experienced or skillful enough to actually do much, even with the numbers in their favor, but Sir Liwry, even without his sword, could cause a problem. He could knock them out, take them off guard, give the others an opening to take them out. He would tip this fight for the worse.

And what was worse, was that Arthur didn't have a thought in the world that might help them out of a situation such as this.

 

* * *

 

He would take his secret of magic to the grave, Merlin had been sure of. He would never tell Uther, obviously, and he would never tell Arthur, as Merlin was aware that Uther's hatred of magic had influenced his son in a way Merlin was always worried by.

He would stand by and watch Arthur rule one day, use his magic in silence when necessary, but he would never reveal his secret.  _Never._

Of course, that had been  _before_  he and Arthur found themselves surrounded by Cenred's men and had a very pissed off Liwry approaching them, looking about ready to skin them alive.

Arthur's knights were no where to be found, Arthur had no plan—they were going to  _die_  if Merlin didn't do something quickly.

He was aware of the risks, aware that he would be risking his life to keep Arthur alive, but there wasn't a day that went by that Merlin wasn't doing that anyway.

He was aware that Arthur could have him burned at the stake for what he was about to do, but with Liwry's sword in his hand, with all the blood he had lost, he didn't see what—

Liwry was on Arthur then, trying to wrestle his sword from him as his men kept hitting him, filling him with deep gashes that made Merlin flinch just looking at him. His decision seemed to have been made for him, then.

Liwry took Arthur in a head-lock, spun him around to face Merlin, held their faces too close together. His blonde hair was matted with blood, his face stained with it as well, and Merlin saw in his eyes the look of a man who had failed.

"I'm sorry, Merlin." He whispered, shaking his head the tiniest bit that Liwry's hold would allow.

" _I'm_  sorry, Arthur." Merlin corrected, biting his lip. He threw the sword down to the ground, ignoring Arthur's confusion and Liwry's curiosity. He looked at Arthur once more, taking in a deep breath and listening to his thudding heart while he relished in the last moments he would have of semi-normalcy and, probably, of freedom.

Still looking at Arthur, still maintaining eye contact, he let his eyes flash golden, let Arthur see him for who he truly was...

And then he knocked out everyone who had swung their swords at them.

* * *

 


	2. Arthur's Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has no choice but to reveal his magic to Arthur when faced with a dire situation. But how does the prince take things? How will it change their relationship and the future of the kingdom?
> 
> "He wasn't supposed to be this calm, Merlin wasn't supposed to be this angry. Everything was backwards."

 

* * *

 

Arthur had been incredibly silent for the longest time, staring at Merlin with wide eyes once Liwry dropped at his feet. He was still hunched over, eyes still locked on Merlin's even after they returned to their usual blue depths. 

Merlin remained still as well, catching his breath as he awaited the outburst, the anger, the accusations, the sword to his throat, but Arthur did nothing, choosing instead to stare at him, mouth slightly agape. Perhaps he didn't know what to say, didn't know if he had really just witnessed what he thought he did. Or maybe he was just frozen with the possibilities, with all the different thoughts he must have been thinking in the moment. Merlin was sure it could have been either.

They didn't have time, though, to wait for Arthur's brain to catch up with everything else. He wasn't sure how long the men would be out, wasn't sure how much time they had to get away and put some distance between them. With a roll of his eyes to shake off the unease he was feeling, Merlin bent down and scooped up Arthur's sword. He thrust it at him and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the scene, from the unconscious men as quickly as he could given the slight resistance he was meeting as he tried to tug Arthur forward.

"Come on, you dollophead—you want to get out of here before they wake up and try to kill us again?" he demanded, still yanking on his arm to try to get him to speed up.

"I… you…" Arthur mumbled at last, his eyes still wide but his pace quickening into a run beside Merlin.

Merlin braced himself for the yelling once again, for the reaction he had always been expecting. He was waiting for Arthur to declare he would be burned the second they returned to Camelot, that he would have his knights arrest him as soon as he found them. He waited for Arthur to rant on about how he couldn't believe what Merlin was, how he was disgusted and outraged that he had been so close to someone so vile all this time and that when his father found out about this, _oh,_ he would make him pay far more than Arthur ever would…

But still there was nothing.

No shouting, no anger, no disgust, no outbursts, nothing but silence, the mangled bit of a sentence Arthur had choked out hanging between them, so many interpretations available for Merlin's brain to fuss over. Was he just in shock, Merlin wondered, choosing his words, trying to figure out the best way to have him put to death—Merlin needed desperately to know what was going through Arthur's head in that moment, but his prince offered nothing, no words, no slugging him, no prying his arm out of Merlin's grip— _nothing_.

Arthur was doing nothing but jogging through the forest with Merlin, still putting distance between them and Liwry and his men. Maybe all he could think of was how close to death they'd been, how they needed to get away from those who wanted them dead and find their men, giving them more numbers, at least, should Liwry and his men find them again.

Or maybe there was something worse going on in his head.

"Sire?" Merlin asked tentatively, squeezing Arthur's arm before he remembered how bruised and bleeding they both were. "We have to stop, we… you're bleeding," he said softly, swallowing the lump in his throat when Arthur nodded and let out a sigh, halting his movements. He turned to face Merlin for the first time since they'd started moving away from Liwry. Merlin's heart skipped a beat at the look in his eyes. It was not one of disgust or anger, but instead concern and compassion. Perhaps he had misjudged Arthur all these years?

"So are you," he said just as softly, his eyebrows knitted together in concern as his hand brushed at one of the gashes on Merlin's arms.

"Never mind me; let's get _you_ fixed up," Merlin insisted, his nervous hands skittering around to check on all of Arthur's injuries, trying to tell which ones were still bleeding, which ones would need the most attention, and if there were any herbs in the area that would be useful in healing and fighting off infection. Anything to get his mind focused on anything but the delicate matter at hand.

Careful, Merlin directed Arthur to a nearby fallen log and coaxed him into sitting on it before his eyes darted around, looking once again for any familiar plants that might be—

"You don't know how to heal?" Arthur asked ambiguously, making Merlin's heart do the weird sort of thing it liked to do when he was sure Arthur had caught him doing a spell in his room or when he was doing his chores or something. It was different now in that Arthur actually _knew_ about his magic for sure, but it still made him… _Nervous_ in the sort of way he might never grow used to.

"I… I _do_ , but…" Merlin shrugged, hands on his hips as he turned back to Arthur. "I thought… I don't know, that you wouldn't want me to use it?" he asked, unsure. Arthur rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh uhm, I don't know, because it's magic and you've been taught your whole life to hate it?" Merlin laughed bitterly, his nerves starting to get the best of him. God, could he just get it over with already? Yell at him, threaten him— _something. A_ _nything_ other than pretend everything was the same between them as it had been before? He couldn't deal with all this… Peace. With Arthur not being upset at him.

"Are you going to heal me or not?" Arthur asked pointedly, blantantly ignoring the question and Merlin's tone.

"Fine!" Merlin hissed, sitting down next to Arthur on the tree and letting his hands come to hover over him. Taking in a breath, he muttered a healing spell he'd done hundreds, if not thousands, of times before, effective enough to stop any bleeding that remained and ward off infection long enough for him to get back to Gaius so he could give him an herbal concoction that would finish the job.

His eyes flashed gold briefly, and he heard Arthur let out a gasp as the spell took hold, probably filling him with an odd feeling, the sense of being healed that bound within his blood and took hold. The feeling of magic running through your veins, even just briefly, Merlin knew, was an odd sensation if you weren't quite used to it. And Arthur wasn't used to knowing about it as it flowed through him.

"Better?" Merlin mumbled then, letting his hands fall to rest on the tree between them. Arthur looked over his injuries before turning his attention up to Merlin again, pursing his lips expectantly.

"What?"

"Aren't you going to heal yourself?"

"I…"

" _Mer_ lin." Arthur insisted. Merlin sighed in resignation and quickly performed the same spell on himself, unsure what Arthur's motives were at that point. Did he want Merlin at full health so he could be at the full mercy of him and his father?

"Well?" he asked then, fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket. It was full of holes from where swords had struck. He would have to ask Gwen to have a look at it for him when they returned to Camelot. Well, if he was allowed to live that long, anyway.

"Well, what?" Arthur asked in confusion. Merlin pulled a face at him, not sure what sort of game he was playing at. Did he want Merlin to get down on his knees and beg for his life? Did he just want verbal confirmation of what he already seemed to be a hundred percent sure of? What did he _want_ from him?

" _Well_ aren't you going to yell at me? Aren't you mad at me?" he asked at last, his eyes not meeting the prince's even as he spoke, his voice filled with so much uncertainty and sadness that he was surprised himself that he wasn't crying.

"I'm not mad at you, Merlin." Arthur sighed, nudging Merlin's chin so he looked up to his face.

"You're not mad at me?" he repeated, still skeptical. Here he had just found out that Merlin had magic, that he had been hiding this from him for who knew how long, and he wasn't _mad_ at him? Perhaps someone had landed a blow to the head that had knocked the little sense he had out of him at last?

"No, I'm just…" Arthur paused, searching for the right word for a moment before continuing. " _Disappointed_." He said at last, nodding.

Merlin almost laughed, his response was so absurd. _Disappointed?_ That was what his mother always said to him when he did something incredibly stupid and had been found out. That she was _disappointed_ in him and the actions he took, that she knew he knew better and could _do_ better. It always stung, of course, but coming from Arthur, the Prince of a kingdom where magic was outlawed, it was… almost humorous, to tell the truth.

"You're… disappointed in me?" Merlin asked slowly, scoffing at the thought. "What are you, my mother now?"

" _Mer_ lin, I'm serious,"

"So am I. How is it you've just found out that I have magic and all you can seem to say is that you're disappointed in me?" he demanded, fists balled. He shouldn't be the one getting angry, he told himself, _Arthur_ should be the angry one and _he_ should be the stoic one, the one eerily calm and accepting whatever fate Arthur bestowed upon him. He should not be the one being riled up. He should not be egging Arthur on, but… He _deserved_ Arthur's anger. He had hidden who he truly was, had lied to him, technically, broken the law—he _deserved_ for Arthur to yell at him.

So why wouldn't he?

"Because, Merlin, that's what I am." Arthur shrugged again. "I know I should probably be angry, but I also know you had your reasons for keeping this from me. I just… I'm disappointed that you thought this was something you couldn't come to me about, I suppose," He shook his head, the corners of his mouth tugging into a fraction of a frown.

"You realize your father would have me burned at first light if he heard of this?" Merlin asked, hoping the gravity of the situation would finally hit him. But, it didn't appear that that would be the case.

" _You_ realize that I am not my father?" Arthur countered, chin jutting out defiantly.

"But you were raised to think all magic was evil! That all sorcerers are evil! How are you not even a little bit mad at me? How are you so calm about all this?" Merlin demanded.

" _Mer_ lin, if I didn't know any better, I might think you _wanted_ me to be mad at you," Arthur teased, trying to coax a smile out of him. But now was not the time for jokes, now was the time to _deal_ with this.

"You should be!" Merlin declared, suddenly standing up, pushing off the log and leaving Arthur to stare up at him with a look of confusion of his own. "I… I've lied to you, broken the law, practiced magic under your very nose—how does that not upset you?"

"Because… you're my closest friend, Merlin. If _you_ have magic... then it can't be all bad, right?" Arthur stood up as well, straightening his armor before he let his eyes come up to watch Merlin. He had to have been a sight, fists balled, eyes crazy and angry, face contorted into anger and confusion—No, this was not how he pictured Arthur reacting to his magic at all. He wasn't supposed to be this calm, Merlin wasn't supposed to be this angry. Everything was backwards.

He had gone over in his head often how it might go if Arthur ever found out about his magic. He had pictured chains and the dungeon, all his friends turning against him and cheering at his execution, all angered and disgusted that they had befriended a sorcerer. He had envisioned hurtful words and physical punishment, the king demanding to know who else had known about this, if Gaius had knowingly harbored a sorcerer—things of the such. Things that foddered his frequent nightmares.

He had never imagined Arthur being _disappointed_.

Gah, _disappointment_ , such an awful word. He knew how to react to anger, knew how he might be expected to grovel and beg for his life, for a chance to flee the kingdom, for Arthur to grant Gaius leniency, but _disappointment?_ When his mother had expressed such a feeling towards him, all he had been able to do was bow his head and go off to think about what he'd done, feeling worthless and tiny until he was forgiven…

But how could he possibly react to _Arthur's_ disappointment?

"You're not going to… to have me killed? Turn me in to your father?" Merlin asked in a whisper then, letting the pain and worry come through at last, his own supposed anger giving way to what he was really feeling: Fear. Sadness. Uncertainty. Worry. Pain.

"Is that what this is about?" Arthur asked, his face drawn up in concern. He took a step forward as Merlin nodded silently, blinking back tears as Arthur reached out and let his arms come around Merlin, pulling him close. "I would never do a thing like that to you, you clotpole," Arthur teased into his neck, eliciting a chuckle out of him.

Merlin was… _relived_ , he supposed the word was, as he hugged Arthur back. Still confused, but relieved. His biggest secret, the one thing he had always been worried about Arthur discovering, was now out in the open. Arthur _knew_ and he still accepted him as his friend. Merlin didn't have to hide anything from him anymore—well, he didn't have to hide his use of magic from him, at least—he could be himself around his closest friend.

Of course, he still didn't feel right about this.

He had always thought that if Arthur had ever found out about his secret, he found feel a weight lift off his chest and he might be able to breathe without feeling like the fate of the universe still rested upon him. But now, Arthur knew, he accepted him, was even hugging him, but… Merlin still felt troubled, like instead of solving all his problems, this was just going to create a thousand more.

Somehow, he did not feel very at ease, though he knew his life was safe in Arthur's hands. He just… couldn't shake the feeling that, as hard as it was to believe, life would turn out to be significantly more tolerable and easy _before_ Arthur knew than after.

"Oi! Arthur! Merlin! You two alive out here?" Merlin was startled out of his thoughts, vaguely aware that Arthur's arms were still around him as Gwaine's voice registered. The knights. It seemed they had found their trail at last. Admittedly it was a bit late—or early, depending on how in-depth a conversation Arthur had been expecting then—but they found them at least. They could return to Camelot now.

"All right?" Arthur mumbled into Merlin's ear as the shouts of Gwaine increased, joined with those of Lancelot, Leon, Percival, and Elyan.

"Yeah, all right," Merlin mumbled back, bringing his arm around Arthur's shoulder to wipe his eyes off. Expecting Arthur to pull back then, Merlin squeezed him close for a second, relishing in the rare touch Arthur allotted him. This conversation was far from over, he knew, but leaving it off, at least, on a pleasant note… It would make the trip home that much more bearable and less stressful.

"Arthur! Merlin! You two—oh," Elyan cut himself off, stumbling onto the scene with the other knights behind him. Arthur lingered for a moment longer, squeezed Merlin and then finally let him go, standing with his arm slung around his shoulder as he greeted his knights with a small smile on his face.

"Bloody hell—you two look like death," Gwaine chuckled after a moment, striding over to the pair and throwing his arms around Merlin in greeting, knocking Arthur's arm off him. "What happened back there, mate?" he asked, thumping Merlin on the chest as he moved on to grip Arthur tight. Lancelot stepped forward and brought his arms around Merlin as well, the rest of the knights all moving forward in progression to greet their prince and his manservant, all loyal friends.

"Liwry and his men—it was an ambush," Arthur replied grimly, shaking his head as the knights watched them, all wanting to hear the story.

Lancelot caught Merlin's eye, and Merlin recognized the look in his eyes, the curious, if albeit suspicious look that always came when he suspected Merlin had used his magic for something. Hoping his eyes had cleared of their tears, he shook his head, giving Lancelot the half smile he always gave him. He smiled back, shaking his own head and then turned back to Arthur and the end of his story.

"You two took out all those men on your own?" Leon asked, surprise in his voice. Merlin was going to deny it, say that he had done little and it was all Arthur—despite his cabbage head, he actually _was_ pretty capable in battle—but before he could, Arthur punched him on the shoulder in the affectionate way Merlin had seen him do with the knights and grinned.

"Well, as it turns out, Merlin here isn't so useless with a sword after all, right Merlin?" he asked, still grinning. Merlin just rolled his eyes, glad, at least, that he had mentioned nothing of his magic. He hadn't expected him to, but still…

"Oh, yeah, I'm real skilled—can't you tell from all these scrapes?" he held out his arms, offering up proof of his incompetence.

"Oohh, Merlin's first battle wounds—our little boy's growing up!" Gwaine exclaimed, wiping non-existent tears from his eyes. He grinned and rolled his eyes back, the talk falling on to the specifics of the battle and where they had left the horses. They needed to get back to Camelot and report to Uther, leave the decision of what to do about Cenred and his attempt on Arthur's life up to him.

It was decided that they would make the journey back to where they had left the horses and would ride through the early evening, arriving back at the castle just before it became too dark to see.

As Arthur took the lead, referencing Leon on where they had left the horses exactly, he caught Merlin's eye, smiling at him for the briefest of seconds before turning his attention back to the road and the brush they had to climb over.

Merlin knew then, illegal or not, his magic would not change things between the pair of them. Not for the better, and not for the worse.

It did nothing to change the pit he felt in the bottom of his stomach either, but Merlin was more than willing to attribute that to nerves and blood loss. Just for the moment.

* * *


	3. Gauis' Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has no choice but to reveal his magic to Arthur when faced with a dire situation. But how does the prince take things? How will it change their relationship and the future of the kingdom?
> 
> "He just needed to be lied to, more than anything at the moment."

 

* * *

 

"Arthur  _knows?"_ Gaius asked over dinner that night, his tone unbelieving and baffled. Merlin nodded slowly, brought his spoon up to his mouth and sucked down the warm broth that had been heated up for the night. After the day he'd been through, after all the injuries he had to heal and the stress he had been put under, Gaius had decided a light meal of broth and bread would suit him just fine to go with the herbal concoction he was meant to take that night and every night for at least a week.

"He knows," Merlin affirmed, nodding his head. He had thought it best to tell Gaius as soon as they had a spare moment together. He needed his input on the whole situation and for someone to tell him whether he was crazy or not for doubting Arthur's reaction. And since Lancelot was at the tavern anyway, who better for the job than Gaius, someone who had been trusted with his secret for years?

"How? Did you tell him?" he asked, probably just as surprised as Merlin was that he was still walking around in freedom.

"Well, not in so many words," Merlin said sheepishly, quickly relaying the story of what had happened that afternoon—the  _real_  version, the one with magic and doubt and fears and their conversation afterwards that Merlin knew to be true and not the fake, sloppily constructed one that had the pair escaping by sheer dumb luck that Arthur had fed Uther upon arriving back at the palace—to him. Gaius listened in silence, taking in everything Merlin said as he usually did and pondering for a moment as they sipped on their broth once the tale was finished.

"Well? What do you think?" Merlin asked after a moment, wanting more than anything to have a second opinion on everything that had taken place that day. It almost felt like a dream, like it hadn't really happened. But it  _had_ , and it was  _real_  and he just... he needed to hear Gaius tell him that he wasn't crazy and that it was  _all right_ that Arthur hadn't reacted the way he had always expected him to.

He just needed to be lied to, more than anything at the moment.

But Gaius would never do that to him.

"I think it's very odd that Arthur wasn't mad at you," Gaius said at last, confirming what he had thought all along, and making his stomach drop.

"How do you mean?" Merlin questioned. He himself had thought it odd, of course, had even pushed for the anger to come boiling out of Arthur, but he thought he  _deserved_  the anger. Gaius, though… Well, he couldn't think Merlin deserved the anger as well, could he? No, he wouldn't. So why was it abnormal then? What made it so odd? He needed the words, needed someone else to properly translate what was so wrong about the situation that he himself could not quite pinpoint.

"Arthur has been brought up to think all magic is evil. He has seen many men and women put to death simply because someone breathed their name and magic in the same sentence," Gaius began, shaking his head as he dipped a bit of bread into his broth and took a bite out of it. "And though he has been known to show more compassion than Uther in many situations, discovering that his most trusted servant has been hiding something such as this from him for as long as he's known him… He should not be taking this news so lightly," He finished, turning his wise gaze upon Merlin as he swallowed a bit of food.

"I know that, and I thought… I thought he would be  _furious_  with me, but… I don't know, no matter what I said, he didn't—he  _wouldn't_ … You know, explode at me. He just kept saying how disappointed he was with me." Merlin shook his head, waiting for Gaius' explanation.

"It may have been just escaping certain death that left him with a sense of gratefulness that you were both still alive," Gaius suggested. "Compared to dying, he may have been feeling disappointed in the moment. Perhaps whatever he would have felt under normal circumstances is simply buried for the time being," his tone sounded almost like a warning, confirming what Merlin had been suspecting all along. This was not over. Of course it wasn't. Why would he ever think that?

"So… what does that mean?" Merlin prompted, wanting to be  _certain_  of what Gaius was saying.

"I fear, Merlin, that it means… Perhaps his anger has yet to come to the surface. It might be buried somewhere underneath the relief and gratefulness that you both are still alive, but I'm not so sure it's going to stay that way for long. I fear that the longer his anger stays buried, the longer he tries to deny it and is left unable to express it, the more destructive it will be once it comes to the surface." He finished grimly.

"So Arthur's just a big ball of anger underneath all his disappointment?"

"I believe that may be the case. You  _are_  his servant, after all, and you have been lying to him all these years, hiding your true self from him all this time. Once he realizes just how upset this situation truly makes him… I'm afraid it will not end well for you, Merlin." Gaius shook his head, his face mirroring the pain and concern Merlin felt in his bones as his blood ran cold.

For a moment, he thought—seriously considered—that Arthur's anger, once released upon him, might result in his death. If his anger about the situation was truly left to stew and remain buried for who knew how long, how might he truly react to it? At least, if he had shown his anger right away, he would have gotten it all out at once, it would not have had time to increase, eat away at him. But, left to sit and be forgotten about, Merlin wasn't sure what such anger could do to a person like Arthur.

"What do you suppose he will have done to me?" he asked quietly.

"He would not have you put to death," Gaius assured him. "Arthur is much too loyal and protective of you for something like that. But… he may become aggressive, he may take digs at you, put you to harder work, give you more to do, maybe even make it harder for you to use your magic around him for a while."

"So, what, he's just going to be a passive-aggressive prat about the whole thing? That's hardly new," Merlin chuckled, though he could tell from the look Gaius gave him that humor was hardly the emotion he should be exhibiting at the moment.

"Merlin, this is  _serious_." Gaius scolded. "If you're not careful, Arthur's anger could consume him, could turn him bitter. It could ruin your very relationship and any chance of magic ever being accepted within the kingdom," he warned, his tone harder and laced with the severity of the situation.

"Wait, so, because Arthur knows I have magic, Albion will never be?" Merlin asked in concern, his tone suddenly sober. That was not what he wanted—would never be what he wanted. But... what  _did_  he want? He wanted Arthur to just accept him as he was, wanted to not face the fear of death simply for being, wanted magic to be allowed within the kingdom, wanted... Wanted Arthur to  _just_...

"No, it's not quite there yet, but… there is a very distinct possibility of that happening, if his anger is allowed to stew for too long." Gaius sighed, his face aged with the burden of his words.

"So tell me how to fix this." Merlin urged desperately. He couldn't take back Arthur knowing about his magic—he wasn't even sure if he wanted to, truth be told—but he could try to fix whatever damage it might cause. At the very least.

"I suppose," Gaius sighed once more, sitting back in his chair. "The only way to prevent Arthur from becoming bitter over this is to simply allow it to run its course,"

"But I thought letting it run its course is what would corrupt him?"

"No, that's if he keeps it buried. To let it run its course, you need to bring out the anger in him. Let it come out and let him work through it," Gaius said, his face pensive with the thought.

Merlin could have laughed at the suggestion, was he understanding right? Was Gaius  _actually_  telling him to make Arthur mad and not just put up with the prat and his outbursts? Was he actually saying Merlin should make Arthur mad  _on purpose?_

"Wait, are you saying that I have to  _purposely_  get him mad at me? Well, that shouldn't be too hard," he grinned.

"No, Merlin," Gaius said with the patience of the old man Merlin often forgot he was. "You need to get him just mad enough that his suppressed anger comes out, but not so angry that it consumes him. There is a very fine line when it comes to delicate matters such as this. If you make him too angry, all will be lost; not angry enough and it won't make a difference anyway." He explained carefully. Merlin nodded, trying to understand.

"So how will I know when he's worked through all his anger?"

" _That_  I don't know." Gaius shrugged, falling back into a rhythm of sipping on his broth and letting Merlin finish his, the conversation falling into the sort of lull such talks often did, leaving the mood heavy and dark and full of too many thoughts for the sort of day Merlin had had.

It had been a long one indeed, and he was tired, with enough to chew over as it was before Gaius had added all this to his plate. Now he would toss and turn all night against his sleep wanting bones, wondering just how he might go about pissing off Arthur. He had done it on accident plenty of times before, but on purpose? He hadn't been that stupid in a while now, he might have forgotten how it was properly done.

Suppressing a wry smile as he brought the bowl up to his mouth to drain the dregs of his broth, Merlin couldn't help but see the humor in the situation. Arthur knew he had magic, and now he had to work to purposefully and efficiently press his buttons to get him to blow up.

It might take a few days of thought to perfect any sort of ideas he had to do it, but Merlin was sure his job might have just become more interesting than it'd been in a long while now.

* * *

 


	4. Morgana's Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has no choice but to reveal his magic to Arthur when faced with a dire situation. But how does the prince take things? How will it change their relationship and the future of the kingdom? 
> 
> "That fool, that idiot, Merlin, had magic, had probably had magic the entire time she had known him."

* * *

 

Slipping out of her room in the dead of night with her dark cloak tucked around her body, hood pulled up to hide her dark hair, Morgana stalked through the halls of the palace, hugging the shadows with purpose as she avoided all the guards that were stationed at their usual posts. They were all useless, of course, easily taken out if they caught sight of her or if she felt it necessary to get rid of them, but tonight they would all keep their lives. Tonight, she had more important matters to attend to.

With a scowl planted on her face, she pushed the door open to her usual meeting place with Morgause and walked up to her sister, who was peculiarly early for once, given the short notice Morgana had requested her at.

"Sister, what is it you wished to speak of so urgently?" Morgause asked, forgoing the greetings, her brow creased in concern as Morgana approached her, her anger and displeasure so palpable they echoed off the very walls around them.

"Arthur and that  _servant_  of his returned to the palace alive," she spat, pushing her hood down and sneering at the mere thought of it. Morgause had promised, had given her  _word_ , that Cenred had sent his best men to do the job this time.  _This time_ , she had promised, there was no chance of Arthur returning to Camelot alive once Cenred's men got their hands on them.

Which was why it had been hard for Morgana to hide the look on her face when she gazed out her window as the progression of horses came through the courtyard and Arthur had dismounted, looking disheveled and a bit bloody, but no worse for wear than he usually was when returning from a battle. She watched and bit her tongue, fought back her scowl as Merlin then dismounted along with the other knights and handed their horses off then walked up the stairs, all laughing and talking as they usually did when returning from a battle or quest.

She had gathered as much information as she could on what happened through-out the night and at dinner after sending word to Morgause to meet her in the palace that very night—something they tried not to do unless it was urgent—and the way Arthur told it, they had been surrounded, out-numbered, and cut off from the knights. How they had managed to escape with their lives, Morgana had no clue, but it took everything in her power to smile and tell Arthur that she was glad he had returned in one piece and to not throw her goblet at the wall nearest her.

This had not been the plan.

"Yes, sister, I am aware of the change in events." Morgause told her, reaching out to stroke back a lock of her thick hair.

"So tell me how they managed to do it!" Morgana hissed, displeasure on her face. They had been  _so close_ _!_  If Cenred's men had only finished the job, they would be having a different sort of conversation in the throne room instead, with Uther dead or dying, and Morgause at her side as her trusted advisor. Instead, they were left sneaking around under the cover of night, their plans falling through once again due to someone else's incompetence.

Such  _insolence_.

"We recovered the leader, the man Cenred was sure would be able to finish the job," Morgause began in a hush. "And he says they were helpless. They were surrounded and he was sure his men would finish off Arthur and then grab the boy and bring him back to us to see what sort of information we could get out of him," she told her, her tone one of urgency and sincerity.

"So what happened? Did that fool underestimate Arthur once again?" Morgana demanded. They had made that mistake one too many times before, but Morgause had assured her that  _this time_  it would be different.

Her sister seemed to be full of nothing but empty promises and broken words these days.

Morgana hoped, for both of them, that it was just a fluke, just Cenred being his useless self and not her sister purposely trying to mess things up. She could never suspect her sister of plotting against her behind her back, of trying to make all their perfectly laid plans fall apart. But if they continued to fail too many times on such simple matters, what else was she going to be able to think one of these days?

"It was not Arthur who was the problem," Morgause answered carefully, her own face taking on a sort of sneer that marred her otherwise perfect features.

"The servant?" Morgana scoffed. She had known Merlin for just as many years as Arthur had, and, while loyal and stupidly brave, he was nothing more than a minor nuisance at best, easily taken care of even on her worst days. What sort of threat could he possibly be?

"The boy, Merlin, yes," Morgause nodded, her lips curling up in a devilish sort of way that both amused and agitated Morgana. Like she was keeping something from her, playing games with her. She did not like it.

"What about that fool?" she demanded.

"That  _fool_ , Liwry said, has magic," Morgause said with amusement.

Morgana's eyes widened.  _"No."_

" _Yes_. And that is how they escaped. He used his magic and knocked them all out so he and the prince could make their escape." Morgause explained, eyes sparkling with the reveal.

"And you believe him? Can Liwry be trusted on something like this?" Morgana asked quietly, letting the newest piece of information settle in.

That fool, that idiot,  _Merlin_ , had magic, had probably had magic the entire time she had known him. And then when she had discovered her own magic, when she had been so alone and suffering so, he had said nothing, had  _done_  nothing to help ease her into her new powers. He had let her suffer; he had let her think she was all alone. Even when she had gone to him with her fears and feelings on the subject, he had still done and said nothing...

She had once thought him loyal friend, had even had a fleeting crush on him once when he had shown such bravery and loyalty to everyone he was close to, but now… Now she felt the same hatred and anger running through her for him as she felt for Uther and Arthur. And that was not good for him. Not good for anyone.

"All his men have said the same thing. And there is no other way they could have gotten out with their lives without magic. It all makes sense now, of course. How Arthur has survived this long, how he's always managing to stay one step ahead of us and thwart our efforts to take over the kingdom—he's had that manservant of his there the whole time, saving his life and trying to stop us." Morgause mused aloud, the pieces seeming to fall into place as she spoke.

Morgana scowled into the darkness, curled her fingers in on her palm and drew her own blood, her anger almost over-whelming. "Arthur must know nothing of this," she said then, trying to keep her head and not rush into the boy's chambers and kill him immediately. The death of Arthur's pathetic little manservant would be investigated thoroughly by the prince himself, after all. And she could not risk exposure. Not yet. "He hates magic just as much as his father does. The boy must be acting of his own accord," she added stiffly, jaw clenched and her face frozen with the anger she had nowhere to unleash.

Morgause closed the distance between them and took one of Morgana's hands in her own. She uncurled it, let her fingers dance across the trail of blood trickling down her sister's palm and stopped it from trailing down her arm further. She held it between both of hers and brought it to her lips for a moment before she smirked.

"Don't you see, sister?" she asked.

"See what? That the boy is a coward, a low-life, willing to let his own suffer and to willingly save the life of one who would have him burned without a second thought if he knew what he really was?" Morgana scoffed, yanking her hand back from between Morgause's.

"No, dear sister," Morgause shook her head and took Morgana's face gingerly between her hands. "This changes  _everything_. There is a sorcerer  _so close_  to the crowned prince—closer to him than you've been to him in  _years_ ," her eyes sparkled with the devious sort of spark Morgana had grown accustomed to, that she had associated with home and belonging. Now, though, the look filled her with dread and left her cold inside. She didn't care about killing Arthur—not in that moment.

No, all she wanted now was to know why Merlin had left her to suffer, why he had turned his back on her. She needed to know what would possess someone to turn their back on their own kind so coldly, so heartlessly.

"Merlin will not work for us," she scoffed, sure that was what Morgause's words meant. "His loyalties lie with Arthur. He will do nothing that puts his beloved prince in harm's way."

"He does not have to work for us," Morgause said, her patience almost sickeningly annoying to Morgana's irritated ears. "He just has to do exactly what he's doing now. He just has to be the prince's manservant, and in time, everything will play out to our advantage."

"What good will it do us?" Morgana demanded. "All this time he's been a sorcerer and everything has gone wrong. He has been the undoing of all our plans since the beginning—how is this anything but bad?" she finished, shrugging out of Morgause's grasp once again.

"Because now that we know about it, we can use it to our advantage." She smirked, her face lighting up with the look that Morgana knew meant a plan was forming in her head. Whatever Morgause was planning now, Morgana had no doubt that it was a grand plan indeed and that Merlin would play a big role in it. Whether he knew it or not.

And Morgana was fine with whatever Morgause decided they needed to do. As long as she was able to extract an answer out of Merlin and then seek her revenge on him—and take her rightful place on the throne of Camelot, of course—she didn't really care what else happened.

But first she needed her revenge.

 

* * *

 


	5. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has no choice but to reveal his magic to Arthur when faced with a dire situation. But how does the prince take things? How will it change their relationship and the future of the kingdom? 
> 
> "When Merlin and Arthur were bickering with one another, all was well. But when they were hardly speaking… The tension, the awkwardness, it cut through them all, made them all extremely uncomfortable."

* * *

  

When his day started with his father requesting him to meet in his council chambers, Arthur knew it was going to be a  _long_  day indeed. A private meeting first thing in the morning, when other, more important matters were usually attended to, meant something was going on that Arthur was meant to take care of himself.

Merlin readied him in silence, his face pensive in an irritating manner that Arthur just let be without teasing. Since finding out about his magic the previous day and having an almost proper discussion about it, Arthur felt as though he was walking on glass around him. He didn't know what he should say, how he should act, what he should be doing at all, really.

And it was...  _frustrating_.

He just wanted to be able to talk to Merlin about everything, to ask the burning questions that had piled up over the night and morning, but, for once in his life, he didn't know how to approach the subject head on and instigate a proper conversation on it. It was almost enough to drive him mad were he not used to such high-stress situations.

Sure, Merlin had tentatively used his magic around him that morning and answered the odd question that happened to be allowed to pop up about it—"How do you know that's not going to burn me?" "Can you make food appear?" "Can you make Gwaine's sword disappear during training?" "Can you figure out where Liwry is?" "Can you give Morgana warts?"—but, for the most part, he was oddly silent most of the morning, barely keeping up their banter and acting nervous, as though he expected Arthur to blow up on him or snap any second and march down to his father to turn him in—which he would never do.

Merlin was jumpy, Arthur noticed, he broke a plate, a vase and somehow managed to crack a pitcher, he strapped his armor on too tight, made his bath too hot, his food too cold, and a few other things that might have bothered Arthur any other day. But, as it was, he was still getting used to Merlin having magic, and his mind was otherwise occupied, so he was willing to over-look it all until Merlin realized completely that his secret was safe with him. That he had no reason to ever doubt that or hide from him.

But why was it taking him so long to get the message? Honestly, if he had wanted to turn him in, he would have done it already! Did he have that little faith, that little trust in him as a person, as a friend?

Biting back a wave of annoyance, Arthur shrugged out of Merlin's grasp and finished straightening his armor himself. It hadn't been that long since the reveal, he told himself, maybe he was still just a tad nervous. Arthur tried to put himself in Merlin's place, tried to imagine what it would be like to keep such a huge secret from someone so close to him on penalty of death. He found the notion itself gave him the beginnings of a headache.

A moment later, he pushed out his door, Merlin silently following him down to where his father had requested his presence.

~!~!~!~!~!~

Merlin had just left to ready the horses and gather the knights; they were to ride out that afternoon to investigate claims of druids making camp much too close to the city's borders. Merlin had been hesitant when Arthur had told him what his father wanted of him for the day—the same hesitance was in his own eyes, he was sure—but had gone off to do it anyway. Because it was still his job and how would Arthur explain to his father why his manservant would not do as he was told?

Left to pull his own things together, Arthur wandered over to the window and saw Merlin in the courtyard, idly saddling up a horse while Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, and Leon sat on horses of their own, all talking and joking around as he went about his work, obviously trying not to become too distracted by their words and horseplay.

Gwaine reached over and unlatched the saddle when Merlin turned his back for a second, the whole thing slipping off and landing on the ground near his feet. The knights all laughed, joined by Merlin as he rolled his eyes and carefully placed the saddle back in place, buckled it up and made sure everything was securely in place before moving on to ready his own horse for the journey.

Arthur went back to straightening his cape and searching for his sword, ignoring the all too familiar feeling that came that day with observing Merlin for too long. He knew with a few simple words or an intense golden gaze, Merlin could have all the horses ready to go in a second, could fix anything Gwaine's screwing around broke in even less time…

But, of course, that would mean exposing himself and that… that was something that could not happen. Not as long as Arthur's father sat on the throne.

Arthur swallowed the bitter taste on his tongue. Finding out that Merlin had magic had shocked the prince, to say the least, and he had said in the moment that he wasn't mad at Merlin for keeping such a secret, but now—after it had time to sink in and he could chew everything over with a good night's sleep—he was beginning to feel…

Well,  _mad_.

Or at least, something that  _resembled_  anger.

He knew, logically, that Merlin's life was in great danger in Camelot, and that just telling him what he had put his life in even greater danger. He also knew that Merlin had never used his magic for the evils his father would believe he did. He had a good reason to keep it all in, to never tell a soul about his magic, but surely he had  _known_ , after all their time together, that Arthur would never mean him any harm? That he would never let any sort of harm come to him by  _anyone?_  Not as long as he was still breathing?

How could he not tell him? Not even hint at it?

Curling his hands into fists, Arthur realized then just how utterly mad he was at Merlin. He had little right to be, he knew, which was why he closed his eyes and took in a breath to calm himself. Things were already awkward enough between them as it was—how could he risk making things worse with petty anger that was almost a day overdue?

He swallowed the anger, he buried it under all their happy memories and their friendship and everything that had happened between them over the years and reminded himself that everything Merlin had ever done was for the good of the kingdom or Arthur himself. Everything he hid from him, everything he lied to him about was all for a reason.

He had to remember that.

Making sure the anger was as good as forgotten for the time being, he crossed to his door and swung it open. Now all he had to do was convince everyone else that he wasn't angry and all would be well.

~!~!~!~!~!~!

"So remind me again, princess—what's the point of this little… excursion?" Gwaine asked after a short time of riding, eerie silence surrounding the group as their horses trampled through the forest.

"There has been word of druids camping around here and my father wished us to investigate." Arthur sighed, casting a wondering look back at Merlin.

"Right, but aren't druids supposed to be peaceful? Why don't we just leave them be?"

"Because they're in the woods of Camelot."

"Right, but—"

"Gwaine, just… drop it, would you?" Arthur sighed, his tone tired in a way Gwaine wasn't used to.

"As you wish,  _sire,_ " he muttered mockingly, silence falling upon them once again.

Gwaine looked to the other knights then with a question in his eyes. Usually, on a trip like this, Arthur was all enthusiastic about the objective and doing the right and noble thing for the good of the kingdom, et cetera et cetera. But this time he almost seemed as though he'd rather be doing anything else than wandering around looking for druids that might not even be there anymore. None of the others knew any more than he did, though, so they merely shrugged back, probably all wondering about the same things.

It wasn't just Arthur who was acting out of sorts though, he noted, it was Merlin as well. Usually, he'd be giving the prince hell for the tiniest of things, starting a comfortable back-and-forth that rested upon the knights like a warm blanket. When Merlin and Arthur were bickering with one another, all was well. But when they were hardly speaking… The tension, the awkwardness, it cut through them all, made them all extremely uncomfortable.

If it had been just Arthur Merlin wasn't getting on with at the moment, Gwaine might not be so worried—they had their spats just as all friends did—but he wasn't talking to him or any of the other knights either. On most trips and patrols, Merlin had been known to fall back and goof off with Gwaine or Lancelot or whoever else was in the mood for joking or goofing off, but, even at the prompting off all of them, he still hadn't fallen back, choosing instead to keep distance between them and Arthur, his face blank and thoughtful.

The journey through the forest was a long one that day.

Finally, however— _finally!_ —Arthur halted in front of them, motioned for them to stop and dismounted his horse. Everyone else followed his lead without prompt and fell in line behind him, Merlin winding up just between Arthur and Gwaine.

They slowly worked their way through the brush, following Arthur and whatever instinct or noise he was being lead by until he halted and searched something out around some thick bushes, his sharp sudden intake of breath alerting the others to what he had found. The druids. It had to be.

Just in front of him, Gwaine saw one of Merlin's hands curl into a fist, the other coming up to rest on Arthur's shoulder, squeezing it almost…  _soothingly._

Interesting. Odd, but...  _interesting._

Their odd behavior, Gwaine realized, had all started the previous day after their encounter with Cenred's men, that Liwry bloke, after the pair narrowly escaped death. They were put in situations like that all the time, however, and it hardly ever effected Merlin and Arthur's relationship before—

Oh.  _Relationship._

When the knights had finally stumbled upon the duo, they had seemed to be locked in an emotional embrace. Merlin even, it had seemed, had been crying. They had both been smiling though, flustered almost, Arthur had been full of uncharacteristically kind words about the boy. More than that, though, they had been touching far too much lately for  _just friends_ , they'd stared at each other a lot, they hated being separated…

Had the two become lovers without telling anybody? And then had a lover's  _quarrel?_ The thought didn't sit quite right in Gwaine's stomach, for some reason. He couldn't have been jealous, though...

Unless he was.

Arthur hadn't shrugged out of Merlin's touch yet, something he would have done by now had the hand belonged to anyone else in a situation such as this.

Gwaine's suspicions, though, were completely confirmed when Arthur tilted his head and stared at Merlin for a moment, his gaze wondering and affectionate, before he nodded and turned his gaze back to the druids.

Gwaine turned to look at the other knights, wondering if they were seeing what he was seeing, if they thought the same thing he did. They all raised their eyebrows, all incredibly in sync with one another.

Ah,  _well_ … He let out a low whistle and turned back around.

At least Lancelot knew he could safely pursue Guinevere now. At least  _Lancelot_  could be happy. The prince, as it turned out, was happily—or not-so-happily, at the moment—taken.

~!~!~!~!~!~

The druid camp was just as all druid camps they had ever stumbled upon were. A fire, clothes hanging out to dry, numerous tents, groups of women talking and children playing and men attending to whatever business they had, and, of course, someone whispering  _Emrys_  into Merlin's head.

Merlin watched Arthur out of the corner of his eye, wondering what their next move would. They could take the camp right then and there and probably kill a good many of them. Merlin would try to save as many as he could, try to get most of them to run, but many would still die and he would still lose sleep over the loss of his kind, all so innocent and just wanting to live in peace.

"Arthur…" Merlin mumbled then, turning his head to look at him, hand still on his shoulder. Arthur turned to face him, swallowed when he made eye contact. Merlin understood how difficult this must have been for him. Under normal circumstances— _before_  he found out about Merlin's magic—he wouldn't have hesitated, he would have charged into the camp and done what he thought he needed to do…

But it was different now, wasn't it? He couldn't kill innocent people who, as far as he knew, had never done any wrong with their magic while he allowed Merlin to live.

Merlin saw the conflict play out on his face, his eyebrows drawn together; he was to do as his father said, but did he not owe these people,  _his_  people, the chance to live in the peace they created for themselves? Where would his loyalties lie, Merlin wondered: with Merlin, with his people, or with his father?

Arthur nodded then, looked once more to the druids, then turned to his knights, Merlin's hand falling carefully from his shoulder.

"Fall back; they're just travelers passing through." He told them. Merlin kept his face still, not moving a single facial muscle even as Gwaine and Lancelot looked to him curiously. Arthur had shown where his loyalties laid; he should show him the same courtesy.

"But, my lord—" Leon began, trying to step around Arthur.

Arthur held a hand up, preventing his progress forward with a stern gaze and stubborn words, "I  _said_  they're just travelers, Leon. The druids my father spoke of are long gone,"

The knights looked at one another, their expressions curious and confused. Merlin was afraid for a moment that they would ignore Arthur's words and check out the situation themselves, but they were all too loyal to Arthur to do that, so they all fell back, albeit reluctantly.

"Of course, sire. My mistake," Leon said, turning with the other knights to make their way back to the horses.

As a stray whisper entered Merlin's head thanking him for his help in softening the Prince's hatred towards magic, Merlin caught Arthur's eye and nodded his thanks. Arthur closed his own eyes in return and shook his head, then walked off to find his knights.

_Great_ , Merlin was supposed to work on getting  _rid_   _of_  Arthur's anger, not making more.

He sighed, but caught up with everyone anyway. At least the druids were safe. Arthur could bury all the anger he wanted to for him, but if Merlin could help keep just a few innocent people alive with the help of Arthur…

Well, it was all worth it, wasn't it?

 

* * *

 


	6. Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has no choice but to reveal his magic to Arthur when faced with a dire situation. But how does the prince take things? How will it change their relationship and the future of the kingdom? 
> 
> "Who did he trust more than Arthur?"

 

 

* * *

Upon returning to the palace and reporting to his father that there were no druids to be found, Arthur had dismissed his knights for the day and locked himself in his room. He wanted no visitors, he informed the guards he stationed at his door, not even his  _manservant_  was to be let in until he brought around his dinner that evening.

No one was allowed in.  _Period._

After the guards sent Merlin away for the third time, he sighed in defeat. Arthur  _knew_  he was trying to get in to see him, he had to have heard his voice, his constant attempts at trying to reason his way past the guards, but it was obvious he wanted little to do with him at the moment. And the realization actually stung Merlin quite a bit.

But, he shortly realized, it had to have upset him to lie to his father like that, to go against everything he had grown up with and let the druids be. He had done the right thing, but it had to have messed him up. Mentally, he was probably having a hard time, which was why he wanted to be alone. Seeing Merlin then… might have made everything that much harder to understand and come to terms with.

Resigned to the fact that he just wouldn't see Arthur until dinner time, Merlin decided he should pay Lancelot a visit. He had just passed Gwen in the hallway, so he was almost  _sure_  he could catch Lancelot in his room before he went to meet the other knights at the tavern…

Jogging through the hallways and past unapproving guards and servants, he found himself at Lancelot's room in no time, knocked and entered quickly as soon as Lancelot made his own presence known.

"Merlin! I was wondering when we might have a word," Lancelot greeted as Merlin slipped the door shut.

Despite everything that had happened in the last couple of days, Merlin found himself grinning, if there was anyone in the world he could always count on, it was Lancelot. He had known about his magic the longest—well, longest of the knights, anyway—and had never felt the need to lock him out for an extended period of time because of it or anything he'd had to do because of it.

"Yeah, me, too. It's… been a wild couple of days," Merlin pulled a face and sank down into the chair Lancelot offered him.

"Yeah, I'll bet," Lancelot grinned knowingly in response.

"What is it?" Merlin asked flatly, wondering what the walls were saying about him this time. It was always  _something:_  that he was an incompetent servant, that he was warming the royal bed, that he was stupid loyal, a fool—being the prince's personal servant came with a plethora of eyes on him and rumors that tended to get around.

"Gwaine…" Lancelot began.

"What'd he do  _now?_ " Merlin sighed.

"He may have started a rumor about you and Arthur."

"What, that I'm warming his bed? That's nothing new." Merlin relaxed against the chair, that rumor had been going around for as long as Merlin had been working for Arthur. No one really paid it much mind any more. But why would Gwaine want to restart it, give it more kindle to make it burn brighter than it had in a while? What would he get out of it?

"No, it's not quite that," Lancelot shook his head.

"Oh? What then?" Merlin asked, confused.

"Well, you and Arthur earlier, when we came across the druid camp, he believed your behavior was… outside the realm of friendship."

"What?" Merlin pulled a face, still confused. Lancelot wasn't making any sort of sense. If Gwaine wasn't saying that Merlin was warming Arthur's bed, then what—

"Gwaine and the other knights think Arthur is courting you." Lancelot said at last.

Merlin's mouth dropped open with his words. Gwaine thought Arthur was  _courting_  him? It was one thing to say they were having  _sex_ , Uther moreorless agreed with Arthur letting off steam that didn't result in unwanted pregnancy, but courting Merlin, intending to one day  _marry_  him, if word got to the king… Merlin might have found himself without a head soon enough.

"C-courting me?" he repeated slowly with wide eyes. "Why would he think… what could have  _possibly_  given him that idea?" he asked.

Jesus,  _courting_  him. Arthur was going to get a kick out of that. Well, after he kicked Gwaine's ass and stuck Merlin in the stocks for an afternoon. Then he would find it  _hilarious_.

Lancelot shrugged. "Yesterday with Liwry and his men—you still have to tell me what  _really_  happened back there, by the way—when we found you two and you were hugging, Gwaine says it looked more like a confessional hug than a glad-you're-alive hug." Merlin made a frustrated sound, he couldn't even enjoy Arthur's rare hugs now without rumors being started?  _Great_.

"Plus, today, with the druid thing and the way you pair were acting," Lancelot shrugged again. "He says it was like you two were in a lover's quarrel or something. He's got plenty more evidence to back it up—between you and me, I think he's rather jealous—and he  _does_  make a  _very_  compelling case," he grinned. "I myself almost bought into it by the time he was done. Myself and Leon, by the way, are your biggest supporters."

"Mmm, it's not funny," Merlin grinned back.

He was  _trying_  to be serious, really he was, and he knew if word got around to Uther about any of this he was as good as dead, but there was something about the way Lancelot talked about it—like no matter what, everything was going to be  _okay_  and that if he and Arthur  _were_  a couple it was all right, because the knights were behind them—that made him want to grin and goof off and be a fool with his friends all day instead of worrying about anything else too much.

And since Arthur didn't want to see him anyway…

"All right," Merlin grinned again. "First, I tell you what really happened with Liwry, and then you tell me where you are with Gwen. Right?" Merlin offered slyly, still grinning as Lancelot made a face of disapproval yet hope.

It was no secret in the castle that noble Sir Lancelot had eyes for the handmaid to the king's ward. Just as it was no secret that while the girl herself, Guinevere, had eyes for him in return, she was also still quite fond of  _the prince_. But her heart, truly, belonged to Lancelot. That much Merlin was sure of.

"But Arthur—" Lancelot protested.

Of course, Arthur had expressed his own interest in Gwen once, too, but Merlin knew, truly knew, that the prince was not one to understand or express feelings of the heart when they needed to be expressed. By the time he truly understood how he was feeling about someone or some _thing_ , there would be something new for him to try to understand, and the original feeling was almost as good as gone.

He may have become aware of his feelings for Guinevere too late. But Lancelot… Lancelot  _belonged_  with Gwen and he knew it all along. Something he had over the prince.

" _But Arthur_  is courting  _me_ , remember?" Merlin interrupted, eliciting a laugh from Lancelot. "So don't worry about him. Now, Liwry…"

~!~!~!~!~!~

He had said he'd wanted to be left alone in his room for the rest of the afternoon, but after an hour's worth of pacing and stewing and thinking much too much about Merlin's magic and leaving the druid camp against his father's orders, Arthur decided he needed something outside of his room. He needed to get out, to do something, to get some air in his lungs that didn't have Merlin's scent lingering about.

Trying to be stealthy—he didn't know if Merlin was still hanging about or if he'd left until dinner time as requested—Arthur left his room and rounded several corners, twisting through the halls in a route he was  _sure_  Merlin didn't take often, if at all.

He couldn't have been going along for fifteen minutes—still thinking about everything, of course—when he heard someone say his name breathlessly, almost surprised. After he was certain it wasn't Merlin—there had been no insult tacked on afterwards—he looked up and caught Gwen's eye as she approached him, beaming as she balanced a wicker basket in her arms.

Ah, Guinevere.

He imagined he should have been thrilled to see her after the couple of days he'd been having, but he wasn't even put in much of a good mood by the sight of her. He still just wanted to be left alone to his thoughts, though it was his own fault for leaving his room, he supposed.

Still, she had seen him and caught his attention, it would be rude to leave without so much as a greeting now.

"Guinevere," he nodded, a tight smile popping up for a fraction of a second before returning his face to it's thoughtful, worried frown.

"Arthur. How are you? I'd heard you were locked up in your room for the day," she said, standing just across from him with too little space in between. He took a step backwards and ignored the frown on her face. Space and time is what he needed from everyone at the moment. That included her.

"Right, I was, but I… needed some air. Decided to take a stroll around the castle." He shrugged.

How much could he tell her without raising suspicion? Did she know? Who else knew about Merlin's magic? And how had they found out before Arthur? Had Merlin told anyone else before Arthur found out?  _Who did he trust more than Arthur?_

"Around the back halls?" she asked, seemingly oblivious to the anger trying to rear up inside Arthur's veins. "Forgive me, sire, but usually just servants pass through here. You don't really see many royals around these halls." She smiled, trying to coax a smile out of him just as he'd done to Merlin the previous day.

It wasn't working any better than when Arthur had tried it either.

"Good, less chance of running into Merlin, then." He scoffed under his breath before he could stop himself.

Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Has Merlin done something to upset you? You know, whatever it was, he didn't mean it." She said soothingly, and for a moment, Arthur remembered all there was to love about Gwen, how she was always standing up for her friends, her loyalty passed only by Merlin himself…

But then the moment passed and Arthur found himself battling against a new wave of anger.  _Loyalty_. Merlin was the most loyal person Arthur had ever known—even more loyal than Arthur's most trusted knights… But how loyal was a person who hid such a secret and made him lie to his father? What good was loyalty without trust?

"Thank you, Guinevere," Arthur said tersely. "But I'm afraid it isn't quite that simple. Do you know where Merlin is right now?" he asked.

He had been wanting to avoid him for a while longer, but now he needed… he just needed to see Merlin for a moment and then he would know what he  _needed,_  what he wanted.

"I thought you wanted to avoid him?" She asked, even more confused.

"I do, I did, but there's something I feel I should discuss with him, something that transcends our petty squabble at the moment," he said in reply, not sure if it was true himself.

Gwen's face relaxed into one of recognition and knowing. "Is it about your father's birthday tomorrow?" she asked.

"What? Yes, yes, of course—what else would it be about?" he lied, grinning with her.

She seemed placated, her whole body relaxing when she realized—when she thought, anyway—that Merlin wasn't in any trouble.

"Well, last I saw of him, he went into Lancelot's room about an hour ago." She told him.

She said something else then, he was sure of it, but he didn't hear it; he was already turning around and making his way to the knights' chambers, wondering what Merlin might be doing with Lancelot.

He still didn't know what he was going to say to him until he found himself outside Lancelot's door and it swung open, revealing his most noble of knights and manservant, grinning and laughing about something or another. They stopped when they saw Arthur standing there, greeted him with the same surprise Gwen had when she saw him out of his room.

Arthur gaped at them for a moment, torn. He couldn't very well go off on Merlin with Lancelot standing just there. Unless—did Lancelot  _know?_  Had Merlin told Lancelot before he told Arthur? No, but what if he hadn't? He couldn't risk Merlin's secret, Merlin's life, like that.

Shaking off his resolve to yell at the boy, he turned to Merlin with a stern gaze. "You need to go muck out the stables. All of them. For me, the knights, the court,  _everyone_. And have my dinner to me hot and on time for once. If you're late, I'll have you put in the stocks for a week. Are we clear?" he demanded, ignoring Lancelot's gaze and focusing only on Merlin's steady, daring, confused, accepting one.

"Crystal, sire," he bowed slightly, lips turning up a quirk.

Aggravated, Arthur turned on his heel and stalked off back to his room, ignoring whatever murmured conversation Lancelot and Merlin were having in his wake.

* * *

 


	7. Uther's Birthday, [Part One]: (Understanding)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has no choice but to reveal his magic to Arthur when faced with a dire situation. But how does the prince take things? How will it change their relationship and the future of the kingdom? 
> 
> "Suddenly, Arthur felt a great deal of pride and respect towards Merlin."

* * *

The king's birthday was a day of rejoice and celebration all through-out the kingdom, none more so than in the palace itself. Within the day, the castle was alive and bustling with life and visiting royalty and entertainers, decorations up everywhere, food being prepared, filling the entire palace with the most glorious of smells. It was the King's birthday, after all, it needed to be festive and they needed to out-do everything that had been done before.

Usually, Arthur loved nothing more than the special breakfast feast that was had for just him, his father, and Morgana that morning, so festive and full of life, tended to by by the best servants in the castle and Merlin himself, but this year... This year he just wanted to be left in his room like a brooding child to mull things over further.

But he had to keep up appearances, so he let Merlin ready him for breakfast and then follow him down, barely a word passing between them as Arthur took his spot at the table across from Morgana and next to his father. They hadn't spoken much since the previous afternoon when Arthur had barked those orders at him outside of Lancelot's room, and Arthur almost wanted to dismiss him from serving at the meal at all, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to do it. He shouldn't have wanted Merlin's presence at a thing like his father's birthday breakfast, but he did. And he was selfish enough that he wasn't going to deny himself such a tiny thing, even if he  _was_  still moderately pissed off about everything.

The table before him had its usual spread of all Uther's favorite food and a good wine to start the day off with—and why not? It was the king's birthday, after all, a day to celebrate.  _So what_  if they started out the day a bit tipsy? It would pass with the hours before the real feast, the real treat, began later that night. By that time, all would be well and they would be ready to enjoy the meal and consume more of whatever sort of wine Uther had picked out for the occasion.

Merlin flitted about the room, so out of sync with the other servants that he narrowly missed colliding with trays and goblets through-out most of the meal. Arthur almost felt  _amused_ —and a bit embarrassed—on his part for Merlin's awkwardness that was almost endearing, until he caught eyes with a scowling Morgana, and was left with a sense of unease that he allowed to fill him as his eyes slid back to his father, a smile on his face as he allowed himself to get lost in a story that was being told.

The story, the meal, however, was interrupted suddenly by a loud banging sound, goblets and food scattering all about the floor without warning. Arthur's head snapped in the direction it came from, his eyes falling to where Merlin stood with wine all over the front of his shirt, a nervous Gwen tittering about how sorry she was as she bent down to the floor to pick everything up. Merlin smiled at her, shook his head and laughed it off, crouching down to help her gather everything up and clean up the mess she had made of things.

She apologized once more as they stood, and Merlin began to pile a few goblets onto the tray she was balancing as he spoke.

"It's all right, Gwen. I've spilled a few goblets in my day; I know you wouldn't do it on purpose, unlike some people." He cut his eyes towards Arthur with a wide grin on his face. Arthur rolled his eyes, a smart response on the tip of his tongue before he remembered where he was and swallowed it down with a drink of wine instead.

Gwen shook her head in response, still smiling at him. "At least let me get you something to clean up with."

"Don't worry about it, I'll have a few minutes after this before I have to run Arthur's errands, I'll just go back to my chambers and change then." He told her, waving off her offers as he ran his hands down the front of his wet shirt, smoothing it down, inspecting the damage.

"If you're sure?" she asked him.

"Positive." His grin returned, lopsided, almost knowing as he added, "Besides, you've got places to be this afternoon, haven't you? Places with a certain dark-haired knight? You've got to finish your work before you can head off for your fun, after all."

"Merlin!" She swatted at him playfully with a rag she might have offered him to clean up with if he had wanted it.

"Hey," he shrugged, maneuvering out of her reach. "I'm only going on what I've heard."

"And what have you heard, exactly?"

"Just that Lancelot's made some  _pretty_  exciting plans for the two of you today. That he got the pair of you the afternoon off and everything. Must be big for  _Lancelot,_  of all people, to skip training, wouldn't you say?"

"And since when do you put such stock in idle gossip?" She asked, her free hand on her hip, though she was still grinning, her cheeks full of the sort of color that told Arthur, and anyone else who might have been observing, that Merlin was correct in everything he'd said so far.  _Of course_  he was; he was good friends with Lancelot, after all, if anyone would know about such things, it would be him.

"Since I heard it from the man himself. Can't get any closer to the source than that, now can you?"

"He talked with you about this? Did he happen to tell you where he's taking me? Because he won't breathe a  _word_  about it to me."

"I may know a thing or two. But, I promised I wouldn't say a word to anyone. You most of all."

"Not even a hint?"

"You know me, Gwen—never one to break a promise." He said cheekily, turning back around to approach the table, still smiling until he caught Arthur's wondering eyes, and then it slipped, just a touch. Until Gwen brushed by him, 'tsk'ing playfully as she went about serving fresh wine to Morgana. He suppressed a snort, hand coming up to brush at his idiotically wide smile as though he'd forgotten where he was for the briefest of moments, all smiles and laughter and the good friend he was when he wasn't busy being a dreadfully terrible servant.

Arthur was trying to be mad here, trying to brood and understand how he was  _really_  feeling about Merlin, about magic, about  _Merlin's_  magic—Merlin was  _not_  allowed to be so adorable and friendly and loyal at a time such as this. He could have him flogged for such a disrespect.

"You there—boy," Uther said suddenly, sitting back in his chair as he pointed his goblet at Merlin.

Arthur's heart skipped an unnecessary beat as his eyes followed his father's to Merlin, his smile slipping from his face completely as he straightened up, a shadow of respect and fear taking over his face when he realized Uther's attentions were on him.

Had he done something, Arthur wondered. Had he slipped, performed magic without realizing, had his eyes glowed, had he given himself away—or could his father just _sense it?_  Come to think of it, why  _hadn't_  he done magic? Gwen had bumped into him, spilled wine all over the front of his shirt—surely he could have prevented such a thing from happening? What sort of control must he have had over himself to not use it on the simplest of matters just to make his life easier?

Yes, Arthur realized suddenly, he had to have had a great deal of self-control, of patience, of something Arthur  _didn't_ to go through life without using something he had at his command that would make things that much easier on himself. And to have to suppress it on the threat of death if he ever slipped up...

Suddenly, Arthur felt a great deal of pride and respect towards Merlin.

"Yes, my lord?" Merlin bowed slightly, approaching the table between Arthur and Uther.

"Merlin, was it?"

"Yes, sire." He nodded, though unnecessarily. Arthur knew damn well that his father knew Merlin's name. It must have been a power thing or something of the such. Or maybe he'd just had too much to drink to remember properly.

Arthur picked up his goblet, took a long drink to calm his own nerves, and watched the exchange carefully. He had been watching Merlin closely all through-out the meal and, playing the events of it back in his mind, he was fairly sure no magic had been used, but... He was still incredibly nervous about the whole thing. Merlin had  _magic_  and was having a conversation with his father—the king who had banned magic on the threat of death and he seemed... incredibly calm about it.

_How did he do it?_

"You've been Arthur's manservant for many years now, been Gaius' ward for just as long?"

"Yes, sire."

"So tell me, Merlin," Uther began, signaling to a different servant to refill his goblet. He was tipsy, buzzed perhaps, Arthur was  _sure_  now. He would sober up by lunch time, but for now he was tipsy and Arthur knew nothing would go wrong. And yet, every muscle in his body seemed poised, ready to move between them, protect Merlin from the guards and any harm that might be done to him at the slightest notice that something would go wrong.

It was only the middle of breakfast and he was already completely stressed out _._

"How is it that Arthur paints you to be such a fool when you are obviously a well-mannered, easy-going young lad? Intelligent, too, I would gather, from Gaius' influence all these years? Tell me: is my son taking your services for granted?" Uther asked.

Merlin's lips turned upwards slightly, he knew well enough to know Uther might have started his birthday out with a bit much to drink, Arthur was aware. He  _also_  knew that Merlin was not above using that to his advantage.

Snakey sorcerer.

"It does feel that way sometimes, sire."

"Yes, well, if you ever feel you can't work under such conditions," he took another sip from his goblet. "Rest assured that there are plenty in the castle who would benefit from a servant such as yourself. Who might not assault you as my own son does. You might even become my own servant one day, if you prove yourself worthy enough."

Merlin bowed. "I'll keep that in mind, your highness."

"Good, good. You might take the rest of the meal off, go clean up from all that." He waved his hand in front of Merlin, gestured to the wine staining the front of his shirt.

"Thank you, sire. And, might I add, happy birthday. Gaius asked me to be sure this got to you in one piece." He offered a box, then, taken from beneath the folds of his jacket, to Uther.

Arthur strained his neck, admiring the simple box with the intricate designs. His father took it from him, curious and intrigued as well. Servants, while known to express their happy wishes, weren't exactly in the business of giving gifts to the royals—not when most of them could barely afford the cost of living. Merlin had certainly implied that it was from Gaius, but he got the feeling that Merlin had had a bit to do with it as well, though he couldn't begin to understand  _why._

"Thank you, boy." Uther nodded, the wine wearing off a touch before he took another sip. He took the top off the box, admiring what was inside with an uncharacteristic smile on his face before replacing it. "Thank you very much indeed. I shall see to it that you and Gaius are properly thanked for this in good time." He promised.

Merlin bowed once more and was promptly excused from the room, leaving Arthur curious as to what was in the box his suddenly somber father held close to him, shielding it from Arthur's wondering gaze for the remainder of the meal.

~!~!~!~!~!~

"Arthur? I was wondering if you might have a moment?" Gwen asked, almost tentative as she approached Arthur in the halls just as he was leaving breakfast not too long later.

He stopped in his tracks, side-stepped out of the way of Morgana as she stalked past him, the corners of her lips tugging downwards as she threw a glance back at him that had him wondering for half a second just what was going on with her. She'd been rather silent during the meal, had been frowning and almost  _glaring_  at him and Merlin when Uther wasn't looking. He wondered if they'd offended her in some way and, if they had, what it might have been that they'd done. He would have liked to do it again at a later point when he didn't want her chattering in his ear about every little thing...

But then Gwen was at his side, cheeks flushed, hands smoothing down her dress as she called his attention to her, and he supposed he would have to wait to wonder what was going on with Morgana until later. It probably wasn't that big of a deal, anyway.

"Yes, Guinevere?" he asked, crossing his arms as he leaned back slightly.

"Well, I don't know if you've heard, but Lancelot and I had plans for this afternoon?"

Arthur nodded, vaguely recalling Merlin mentioning something about it just that morning, and then when Gwen and Merlin had discussed it briefly after their little accident. Speaking of, where  _was_  Merlin? It shouldn't have taken him too long to change his shirt, even if he  _did_  have to go all the way back to Gaius'...

"Yes, I heard about that. Lancelot is one of my best knights—I've no doubt he'll keep you very happy," he said, smiling distractedly. It wasn't as though Merlin had far to go or much to do—really,  _what_  was keeping him?

"So you don't mind then? About Lancelot and I?" She asked, almost sounding confused about his casual tone.

"Mind? Of course not. Why would I mind?" He wondered aloud, looking behind himself quickly. He wouldn't put it past Merlin to duck out of sight for a while even after changing his shirt, if only to get out of whatever sort of chores Arthur had planned for him for the day. But given the circumstances, he doubted he would pull such a stunt on today of all days—or perhaps, that would be all the more reason for him to avoid Arthur for a while.

"Well, it's just... You and I—he was worried that he might be coming between us, but..." Gwen trailed off, flustered.

"There's nothing for him to come between, Gwen. If he was so worried about that, he might have talked to me about it himself." He clucked his tongue, trying to reassure her that whatever she had going on with Lancelot...

Well, he didn't mind it. Lancelot clearly made her happy, and she  _deserved_  to be with someone who did that for her. Lancelot could court Gwen, if that was his intention, and Arthur would wish them nothing but happiness.

He might have put that thought into words, if given a few moments more with the conversation.

"Right, well," Gwen smiled tightly, and Arthur might have caught a spark of hurt, had he looked close enough at her in the moment and not merely in hindsight. "I should be going, then. I've a few things to get done before I can go off with him for the day. Sire." She curtsied quickly, and then walked off down the hall he'd seen Morgana go down a moment previous.

Arthur didn't dwell on the conversation much longer, as one moment he was left with his thoughts and the next Merlin was at his side, having seemingly come from no where, grinning and with a different shirt on, his neckerchief  _mysteriously_  spotless. How long had he been nearby and how had he avoided Arthur's search like that?

"I think, _Merlin_ ," Arthur almost smiled at him, however, and let all other thoughts drop from his mind as he pronounced his name with just the hint of a playful threat. "It's about time we had a talk."

~!~!~!~!~!~

Arthur unceremoniously dragged Merlin back up to his room, his grip on his arm loose enough that Merlin could have slipped away had he wanted to. He decided that he didn't want to, however, and allowed Arthur to lead him back to his chambers, passing servants and guards and knights that shot them  _looks_ , snickering under their breaths and mumbling to each other at the sight as they passed by. Merlin wondered if Arthur noticed and wondered what they were going on about, but decided not to press it; he had seemed plenty pissed the previous day and that morning that Merlin didn't think he needed anything more to fuel his anger.

But, he noticed as they pushed into Arthur's chambers and the door was locked behind them by Arthur as an after-thought, he didn't  _seem_  too angry anymore. In fact, he seemed more concerned, worried, and a bit amused instead as he gestured towards the table in the middle of the room and took a seat, nodded for Merlin to do the same.

Curious, Merlin obliged, lowered himself to the seat across from him. He watched as Arthur sat thinking for a long moment, rapping his knuckles against the wood in a smooth rhythm. Merlin quirked an eyebrow, his gaze wondering as Arthur continued with his show of thought for a moment longer. It was his father's birthday—there  _were_  things that needed attended to, places Arthur should be at the moment, things he needed to be doing, what could be going on in his mind that outranked his own father's birthday celebrations?

"Arthur—" Merlin began at last.

"I'm sorry, Merlin." Arthur interrupted suddenly.

"'Sorry'?" Merlin repeated, blinking in disbelief. Arthur was apologizing.  _Why_  was Arthur apologizing? "For what, exactly?"

"For… these past couple of days," he began slowly, one of his hands coming up to run through his hair, giving it a windswept sort of look before he flattened it back against his head, mused it carefully once more, and then let his hand come down to rest against the table once again. "It's been confusing for me, and I know I must have made it confusing for you as well with—with all the mixed signals and everything. So. I'm sorry if I caused you any… distress on the matter. Really, I am."

Merlin gaped at him for a long moment, trying to decipher… well, what the hell was going on. Gaius had prepared him for anger and shouting and passive-aggression for  _weeks_ , not apologies and regrets just the  _day_  after—had he, perhaps, been wrong?

"You're… sorry?" He asked again, still rather unsure about what was going on. Uther had treated him decently—because he was drunk, but still—Arthur was apologizing, what exactly was going  _on_  with the Pendragons lately?

"Yes,  _Mer_ lin. I'm sorry—I am apologizing. It won't become a normal occurrence or anything, but… I  _am_  sorry." Arthur nodded, and he seemed solemn and sincere enough to Merlin, but…

"Why?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why are you…  _apologizing?_  Just yesterday you were threatening me with the stocks and today you're  _sorry_ —what's changed?" And  _God_ , was Merlin an idiot; here he was, with Arthur letting him off the hook left and right lately and he just had to keep pushing him, putting his foot in his mouth. Maybe  _he_  was the idiot around here, not Arthur.

"I…" Arthur sighed, shook his head. "At breakfast just now, with my father… I can't imagine this has been easy for you, all these years. You were serving the king of Camelot, having a conversation with him not even a half-hour ago—he would have you  _burned_  if he ever found out, Merlin, and just… I think I might actually respect you, just a little bit now. And…" he shook his head again, trailing off with the thought as his eyes wandered around the room. His elbows came to the table, hands coming together just in front of his chin, and he remained silent for a moment longer, eyes lost with whatever he was thinking.

Merlin never let his own gaze wander, however, and kept Arthur pinned to where he was, willing him to continue with the sentence, with the train of thought. Arthur was beginning to see just how hard life had been for Merlin, why he had had to keep it a secret—he was beginning to  _understand_. And it was a glorious sort of moment, filled with clarity and jubilation. He almost hoped, against the relief and wonder at the situation, that this might be something that brought them closer instead of ripping them apart.

But beyond the understanding, beyond the apology, Merlin felt something else there, just below the surface of Arthur's eyes, just on the edge of his words, something that sounded like, that looked and felt like,  _fear_. Arthur was afraid for Merlin, afraid of his father finding out, afraid that he might betray him, perhaps. He was afraid, something the Prince of Camelot never usually let show.

The realization filled Merlin with something of a pang, an echo of regret that he'd placed such a burden on Arthur, lightening his own load whilst weighting Arthur down as well. That had never been his intention, but… He'd be lying if he said it was the worst sort of thing in the world.

"And… I'm glad, Merlin," Arthur began once more, eyes coming back to find Merlin's, hard with something mischievous and warm all at once. "That you don't have to hide this from me anymore. I would hate for you to have to feel the way I felt, all through-out breakfast, around  _me_  all day every day. And  _now_ ," he grinned after a beat. "You can get your chores done a bit more… efficiently. You don't have an excuse not to get everything done  _properly_  anymore."

Merlin laughed, feeling the tension drain from the room as he rolled his eyes, smiling half a moment later as Arthur joined him in chuckling.

There was still plenty left between them to talk about, but for today, Uther's birthday, Arthur's understanding would be more than enough to tide them both over until the time came that they could have a proper discussion about everything. Whatever would come afterwards, whatever were to happen next... Merlin was fairly certain that he—that  _they_  could handle it together, just the two of them. They would finally be on the same page, there would  _be_  no more secrets between them, and everything would finally be as right as it  _could_  be with Uther still king.

How wrong, he would come to find out, he was in that assumption.

* * *

 

 


	8. Uther's Birthday, [Part Two]: (Secrets In The Dark)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has no choice but to reveal his magic to Arthur when faced with a dire situation. But how does the prince take things? How will it change their relationship and the future of the kingdom?
> 
> "But who's going to put me to bed?"

* * *

The rest of the king's birthday was passed in a flurry of chores and duties and running here—no  _there_ —and getting everything done and settled by the evening meal, which always proved to be a treat for everyone. No expenses were spared, no corners were cut, the entertainment was lively, the food spectacular, everyone was expected to look their best,  _be_  their best—it really was something else entirely. No matter what else was to be said on the subject of Uther Pendragon, no one could possibly deny that he knew how to throw a banquet, especially in his own honor.

Merlin, as it would happen, did not have many duties at such an event. He was merely expected to refill Arthur's cup when it ran dry, and do the same for the knights, if no other servants were available at the time. It kept him busy enough with knights like Gwaine around, but, for the most part, he  _did_  have a nice lull in his duties, particularly when the gifts were being presented to Uther—gifts of the typical swords, daggers, jewels, gold, things of the such that one would expect a king to receive on his birthday from visiting nobility and close friends—and when the entertainment was going on in full swing—mostly performers, acrobats, jesters, singers, musicians, and almost anything else one could ever hope to see at such an event.

On such occasions, Merlin tried not to give Arthur too much to drink—not that he couldn't hold his alcohol, but he tended to get stupid when he was drunk—but whenever he was pulled away by one of the knights, he had the sinking suspicion that someone else was refilling Arthur's cup, as it was always slightly fuller than it had been when he'd gone from him. With all the other servants busy attending to  _their_ duties, however, he didn't know who else might be doing it and shrugged it off in response, sure he was just imagining things.

Just after the entertainment was finished for the moment, and the meal was vigorously tucked into, Lancelot and Gwen slipped in through one of the side doors, Lancelot moving to take his empty seat with the other knights and Gwen picking up a platter to serve them. She passed by Merlin, who grinned at her flushed expression cheekily but otherwise said nothing, too busy refilling Gwaine's cup for what felt like the umpteenth time to do so; if the knight made it back to his bed without falling down a flight of stairs, it would be a miracle.

The rest of the meal was passed as the beginning of it had been: all cheer and toasts and food and too much wine all around. Save for Lancelot and most of the servants, most everyone else seemed to be pissed by the end of evening—including Arthur, much to Merlin's dismay—and stumbling out of the room when the meal was declared over, leaning on each other, whispering in ladies' ears, babbling on to different servants about this and that in the drunken way that nobility often did.

When Uther himself finally left the room, the only ones left at the table were Arthur and a handful of knights—but where had  _Morgana_  slipped off to? Merlin wondered when he glanced around the slowly emptying room and caught no sight of her—with servants bustling all about them to clean up as quickly as they could manage. It had been a long day, and they were no doubt as exhausted as Merlin himself was; everyone just wanted to finish up with their duties and head home for bed.

"All right, Arthur," Merlin began, at Arthur's side the second he stood up. He helped throw one of Arthur's arms across his shoulders to keep him upright and steady so he didn't fall back into his chair ungracefully.

Arthur was chuckling drunkenly with Leon, Elyan, and Percival about something or another, grinning in the maddening way he did when he was pissed. He smelled strongly of wine and was still swaying despite Merlin's best efforts, and if it wasn't his  _duty_  to get him safely back to his chambers, Merlin might have left him there to sort out for himself how to get back to his room.

"Let's get you to bed now, shall we?" Merlin asked him rhetorically, readjusting Arthur so he could walk and not just lean.

"D'you hear that?  _Mer_ lin' _s_ taking me to bed now. What're you gonna do with me when you get me there, eh?" Arthur jabbed his free elbow into Merlin's side in what Merlin supposed was  _supposed_  to be playful manner, but was, instead, sharp with the loss of self-control and inhibitions that came with the amount of wine he'd ingested that night.

Merlin rolled his eyes, scoffed under his breath at Gwen as she passed him by, sending a smile of sympathy his way as she left the room with an armful of soiled dishes. At least  _one_  of them was able to escape the horror that  _was_  a drunken Arthur Pendragon.

"Nothing fun, I'm afraid. Keep you from choking on your own vomit,  _if_  you're nice to me between now and then." He replied with a tight, teasing smile that Arthur wouldn't remember in the morning anyway. He never  _did_  remember his inappropriate jokes and teasings when he got this way, never remembered the things he said or did, hence why Merlin had wanted to keep him as sober as possible on such nights. With everything that had been going on lately, with everything that had been on his mind lately, Merlin had a sinking feeling that a drunken Arthur was the worst thing possible for them right now.

"Will he be choking on anything else tonight?" Percival sputtered with laughter before he even finished the question, the others joining in with a round of chuckles.

"Not with his attitude." Merlin clucked back, readjusting his hold on the stubborn ass prince. Honestly, would it  _kill_  the knights to stay sober enough to help him drag Arthur back up to his room on such occasions?

"Need some help with our dear Prince, Merlin? Or were you hoping for some alone time with him tonight?" Lancelot, as if on cue, asked from just behind them, a teasing sort of grin on his face as he came up and took some of Arthur's weight off of Merlin, allowing Arthur a place to lean against his shoulder.

Merlin just shook his head, glad at least  _one_  of the knights had some sense about them. "People already think he's courting me, I can't have them thinking he's sullying my virtue as well." He replied as they turned away from the rest of the knights and began towards the door with Arthur between them, still babbling but otherwise almost passed out. If he made it back to his room still conscious, Merlin would certainly be surprised.

The scraping of chairs against the floor echoing about and mingling with the mangled, drunken gibberish of his friends alerted Merlin, as they exited the room, to the fact that the others had taken it upon themselves to get to bed as well, though whether they would all find their way it to their own beds would remain to be seen come morning.

"Right, wouldn't want those sort of rumors going about—what would the king think?" Lancelot asked, still teasing as they pushed through the door and began their long journey to Arthur's room.

Merlin grinned in response, gave his friend a sideways glance. Lancelot seemed in good spirits, at least. And Gwen—Gwen had been absolutely  _glowing_  when they'd slipped in and then through-out the rest of the meal. Forget about Gwaine's rumors and getting Arthur safely to bed, Merlin wanted to know how  _their_  afternoon off had gone.

"Nothing good at all. How was the afternoon with Gwen, by the way? She seemed pretty happy when you got back." He cut his eyes back at his knight friend, still grinning even as Arthur leaned his head down on his shoulder and mumbled something about Lancelot being a good knight but a dreadful third-wheel sometimes.

"Did she?" Lancelot asked in response, smiling in a far-off sort of way as they pushed through the throngs of straddling court members and servants, the servants trying to get things done, the court members trying to get to their rooms unassisted. How the kingdom managed to thrive when the ruling court was full of such lightweights, Merlin hadn't a clue. Gwaine could probably have drunk them all under the table during his nightly visit to the tavern and still have been able to defend the kingdom moments later. Maybe Gwaine should have given them lessons of some sort, school them in the ways of tavern drinking so they stopped making such fools of themselves when they had just a little too much to drink. It would be less embarrassing for everyone, really.

"Of course—she always does when she's just come from spending time with you. She loves you a lot, you know." Merlin told him, but he had to have already known that— _everybody_  knew how much Gwen loved Lancelot, after all.

"I know." Lancelot grinned, face glowing in the same way that Gwen's had been just hours before, all happy and in love. "Actually, we talked about that a lot this afternoon. Among other things." He admitted, almost shy with the admission. And seeing Lancelot bashful with his words was almost enough to make Merlin forget about the prince caught between the pair of them, his drunken breath tickling at Merlin's neck.  _Almost_.

"Really? So where does that leave you two, then?" Merlin asked, shoulder rolling up to bounce Arthur's head off of him, to keep him awake and moving, to keep him from distracting Merlin from this normal conversation that he very much wanted to have with his friend. Because sometimes he really just needed a dose of normalcy in his magical life.

"Actually—"

"Merlin! There you are!" A serving boy exclaimed, rushing up to Merlin, Lancelot, and the inebriated Arthur from just down the hall.

Merlin recognized the boy immediately; he was a good servant: polite, respectful, young enough to be his brother, always doing his job without complaint or a word of back-talk. Merlin often guided him, helped him with any tasks he was unable to accomplish on his own. On nights such as this, he was often over-whelmed with everything that needed to be done in the clean up and sought out Merlin's help whenever he could find him. And Merlin didn't mind—he rather enjoyed someone showing him the respect and adoration that the boy—Cedric—often did, but he  _did_  need to get Arthur back to his room in one piece...

"Cedric, how's it going? Causing any trouble tonight?" Merlin teased, pausing in their journey. Lancelot came to a stop as well, shifted Arthur ever so slightly as Cedric came to stand in front of them, dirty blond hair messily shoved out of his face with a hand as he greeted the prince and Lancelot with respect before turning his attention back to Merlin.

"'Course not. But, well," he shrugged. "Your knight friends—Sirs Gwaine and Elyan... caused a bit of a mess that I could use some help cleaning up—if you're not too busy." He added quickly, eyes taking in Arthur's current state and flashing with apology and a shy smile.

Merlin smiled back at him, looked over Arthur to Lancelot for a moment. He really didn't want to leave Lancelot to deal with Arthur all by himself, but, at the same time, he didn't want to leave Cedric to clean up after Gwaine and Elyan himself either—God only knew what sort of trouble they had left in their wake, drunk as they were.

"You should probably go see to that, Merlin," Lancelot told him before he could make up his mind. "I can get Arthur back to his room from here, it isn't far."

Merlin hesitated, thinking it over for a moment before he nodded and slipped out from under Arthur, leaving him to grasp at the air before Lancelot readjusted his hold on him, keeping him upright by himself now. He hated leaving Arthur in such a state, but Lancelot was fully capable of getting him to his room and making sure he didn't kill himself along the way. Cedric, though, probably couldn't handle whatever sort of damage Gwaine and Elyan had caused on his own.

"I can come back and get him into bed once I'm done." Merlin promised.

"Don't worry about it, Merlin; I think I can manage to get him into bed for you."

"That's not your job."

"No, but I don't see why I can't do it anyway, as a favor to you." Lancelot told him with a smile.

"Thanks, Lancelot. I owe you."

"I think we're about even—if it wasn't for you, today with Gwen might not have happened. The least I can do is see Arthur to his chambers for you. Now get going before they cause any more trouble." Lancelot shooed him off with Cedric down the hall then, bidding him goodnight and promising to tell him all about his afternoon off the following day when they had a moment to spare.

~!~!~!~!~!~

Once Merlin and Cedric were out of sight, Lancelot looked down at Arthur and shook his head, he hadn't even noticed Merlin was gone yet, he was so busy trying to stay upright. He turned forward once more and started back to Arthur's chambers, knowing the way there even against the dimly lit halls.

The rest of the journey there was mostly quiet, Arthur practically a drooling, barely conscious mess by the time Lancelot pushed through his door and let it close behind him. In the dark of the room—with all the servants busy with Uther's birthday feast, no one had been around to light the candles—he felt his way towards Arthur's bed and let him fall into it once he became aware of where he had been led. He let out a groan of pain as Lancelot left his side, getting the room lit up dimly with candles in a few short moments.

Lancelot came back to Arthur's bedside and gave him a curious look when he saw the prince laying upon his own armor, mumbling about the sharp edges digging into him and could Merlin make himself useful and get the damn things out from under him already.

"Merlin isn't here, Arthur—remember?" Lancelot asked him, gently pushing him off the armor and collecting it in his arms. He walked over to the table he'd seen Merlin spread it out on before and left it, then went back to find Arthur laying where the armor had previously been. He was on his stomach, face pressed into the pillow and turned to the side ever so slightly, just on the verge of sleep.

"I don't—where  _is Mer_ lin, Lancelot?" He slurred.

"He went to go help Cedric clean up the mess Gwaine and Elyan made." Lancelot explained carefully.

"When will he be back?"

"Morning."

"But who's going to put me to bed?"

Lancelot smiled, a tad amused at the tone Arthur had taken on with the question, almost whining and pleading with the thought that Merlin wouldn't be around again until the morning rays shone. Perhaps Gwaine hadn't exactly been  _wrong_  in the rumors he had started, after all...

"You  _are_  in bed, sire." He told him.

"Am I? When did that happen?"

"Five minutes ago. Give or take."

"And when did Merlin leave?"

"Six or seven minutes ago."

"And why won't he be back until morning?"

"Because he has to clean up after your knights. That'll take some time, and then he  _does_  need to sleep."

"Cleaning up won't take  _that_  long—not for Merlin."

Lancelot shot Arthur a look that he couldn't see, and swallowed when sudden realization hit. Arthur knew about Merlin's magic, Merlin had told him as much, and he wouldn't say anything to anyone about it under normal circumstances... But these weren't  _normal_  circumstances, were they? Lancelot already knew about it, of course, so there wouldn't be much harm done in Arthur saying anything about it in front of him...

But Arthur didn't know that.

"What... do you mean, sire? Why won't it take that long for Merlin?" He asked, the sort of question any normal person would ask him in the same situation, the same question Leon would ask, or Uther, or any one of the other servants, had they been there instead of Lancelot. What would Arthur say to such a question, Lancelot wondered, in his current state?

"Because he has  _magic_." Arthur replied, a groggy sort of giggle escaping his lips with the blood chilling admission. "Merlin has  _magic_ —he could just snap his fingers and have the place cleaned up in a moment. He saved my life with it, you know—I can't imagine the number of times he's had to do such a thing, he was so calm and casual about doing it the other day with Liwry and his men."

"Arthur, you probably shouldn't—" Lancelot tried.

"I was so mad at him afterwards, you know," Arthur continued, eyes cracking open and finding Lancelot's wide, worried ones. "Not really  _mad_ , not at him. I was just disappointed that he couldn't tell me about it before. But then I was angry at him, angry at myself—am I that terrible a friend that he couldn't come to me with something like this? I thought we were good friends—he's my best friend, you know, the only person who doesn't care that I'm the prince... He's  _Merlin_ , and I thought he was my best friend, but he couldn't even tell me about having magic and I was so angry because of it.

"But then we were at breakfast and I realized what he's been going through all these years and we talked and I'm not so much angry at him anymore, but I'm still  _hurt_ —friends tell each other things like this, don't they? If I had magic, I would have told him about it  _years_  ago.

"I just care about him _a lot,_  Lancelot, and I wish he would have told me sooner—I could have helped him keep this from people. I'd never see him dead because of it, I'd never let my father do anything to him either—I'd sooner denounce my claim to the throne than see Merlin harmed because of any of this. He doesn't know how much I would do for him, how much I care—I guess he's not the only one with a few secrets around here.

"But if he just—"

" _Arthur."_ Lancelot cut in at last, his tone silencing Arthur immediately.

Merlin had always said that Arthur was stupid when he was drunk, but Lancelot had never truly believed him—the pair insulted each other all the time, after all, so who was to say when they were being serious in what they were saying? Now, though...  _Now_  Lancelot knew Merlin had been speaking the truth on the subject. If he was this chatty—this  _stupid,_ as Merlin put it—when he was drunk... It was a wonder Merlin allowed him to drink at all.

"I think it's time you went to sleep, Arthur," He said slowly, reaching down to tug the blankets over his incredibly chatty and inebriated friend. "Merlin will be here in the morning—you can talk to him then." He finished, more gentle in his tone now.

Arthur nodded, sighed into his pillow. "Thank you, Lancelot." He mumbled.

"You're welcome, Arthur." He mumbled back, stepping away from the bed.

He watched for a moment longer as Arthur's breathing evened out and he rolled over in his bed, lost to the dream world already.

As he blew out the candles, then, Lancelot was left with a feeling of unease concerning what had just happened. Arthur shouldn't have been so keen to talk about it all like that. Drunk or not, it was irresponsible. If anyone  _but_  Lancelot or Merlin had been there that night... Arthur would have caused a lot of trouble for Merlin without really meaning to. And how would he have lived with himself then?

Perhaps it was the newness of what he now knew, the adjustment of having such a secret to keep, a burden to carry; maybe he just needed to get it all off his chest just once to someone other than Merlin. At least, that's what Lancelot  _hoped_ it was; if Arthur was going to get like that every time he drank too much... Lancelot worried what that would mean for Merlin in the future.

Whatever else was to come of what had happened that night—not even considering Arthur's admission of feelings for Merlin for the moment, because that was something else entirely that the knights had all discussed and came to terms with already—Lancelot knew it would need to be dealt with properly come morning, the sooner the better.

But there was nothing else to be done for the night, other than sleep on it— _all_  of it. And if Arthur even remembered what he'd said come morning... Lancelot was  _sure_  there would be plenty to discuss come morning.

So preoccupied with his thoughts, so worried about Merlin, and Arthur's loose tongue on such a matter, Lancelot did not notice, just on the other side of the room, lurking in the shadows behind the curtains that were drawn across the side of the room not to be used until Merlin came around in the morning, Morgana, eyes wide with what she had just witnessed and a look on her face that meant nothing but trouble to come.

* * *

 


	9. Confused Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has no choice but to reveal his magic to Arthur when faced with a dire situation. But how does the prince take things? How will it change their relationship and the future of the kingdom? 
> 
> "Dear God, what had he done?"

* * *

 

Morgana's original plan had included hiding away in Arthur's room until Merlin left him alone and then performing a simple enough spell that would cause plenty of trouble for the servant in the coming days. It wasn't much, just enough to keep him out of her hair until Morgause could get back to her with the complete details of her newest plan.

Imagine her surprise when Lancelot, not  _Merlin_ , had escorted Arthur to bed.

And then to have to bear witness to his drunken ramblings… They had  _infuriated_  her! Had even been enough to distract her from her task and send her stalking out of the room without completing it, once Lancelot had gone.

Arthur  _knew_  about Merlin's magic, vowed to his most noble of knights to never let any sort of harm befall him because of it—who else, she wondered, knew about the fool's little secret? Lancelot, and Arthur, probably Gaius and the poor boy's mother, but  _who else?_  How had he been so  _careless?_  To let so many people know about his magic in a kingdom where magic was forbidden?—had even threatened to disinherit his father if any harm were to befall the boy because of his little secret…

Still infuriated that he would promise no harm to  _Merlin_ , yet just the day before had been out hunting down druids to kill, Morgana slipped back into her room and shed her cloak. Morgause had made her promise, just before she'd left their last meeting, not to do anything hasty with the information they had, but…

That had been  _before_  she had known Arthur knew.  _Before_  she knew he would let Merlin live while sacrificing so many others.  _Before_  she knew,  _before_  she had been filled with a new sort of rage that might not quell with the night's chill come morning.

That promise had been made  _before_.

With what she knew now, not even  _Morgause_  would argue with her reasoning, not even  _Morgause_  could deny that she should act in some way or another. But, the question was:  _how?_ And, more importantly, what else did Arthur know? If Merlin had told him of his magic, had he mentioned other things as well—such as Morgana's treachery and all her plans to take over the crown? If that damned Lancelot hadn't meddled, she might have the answers she wanted, but, she was rather uninformed now, something she did not like in the least.

She would use the remainder of her night, then, to plot and plan, to formulate and articulate all the thoughts, all the little details needed to get a dose of vengeance in. Morgause did not need to know about every little thing she did, after all.

~!~!~!~!~!

Arthur's head felt like it was being split open with an exceptionally dull, rusty blade.

He let out a groan when he came to whatever senses would have him, eyelids fighting against him as he tried prying them open, vaguely aware of someone saying  _something_ or another, though the words themselves, and whatever meaning they might have under different circumstances, were lost among the dull ache they sent over his entire body.

When his eyes finally complied and opened, he blinked against the harsh light that blinded him for a moment, sending another wave of pain through him. Dear God, what fresh hell had he stumbled into this time?

"Drink this." Merlin— _was_  that Merlin? Who else would have been in his chambers at such an unholy time?—instructed, thrusting something in front of his face. It was a vile of some sort, small and clear and full of a substance that Arthur very much recognized as a draught that Gaius prepared whenever him, or any of the knights, had a particularly rough, drunken night. It was meant to take away the dull ache he was feeling, the vile taste in the back of his throat, the dry, cotton-like feeling in his mouth, the urge to throw up. It was meant to make getting through the day  _bearable_ , at the very least.

Without another word or action, he grabbed the vile and downed it awkwardly, returned the empty container to Merlin's waiting hands and took the cup of water he was being offered not a second later.

After parching his thirst, he slowly sat up, wondering why he was still in his clothes from his father's birthday banquet and not in his nightclothes—when he was suddenly assaulted with a barrage of images and conversations that had taken place the night before. Every thing he had said, every thing he had done, all played back in his mind, clear as day for him to cringe at.

Dear God, what had he  _done?_

"Have fun last night?" Merlin asked, throwing the curtains on the other side of the room open. "From what you can remember, I mean? You were pretty pissed by the end there—do you remember anything at all?" he asked, teasing but not really.

Arthur knew Merlin worried about him when he had too much to drink, which was why he never quite let Arthur drink as much as any other servant might let him. Thankfully, Arthur had Morgana sitting just next to him at such events, refilling his goblet whenever Merlin wasn't looking so he could drink to his heart's content. Usually, he was glad for that, but today… Today he might have to put an end to that little tradition.

"Yes, of course." He mumbled back distractedly, a prickle of panic shooting through him as he recalled his conversation with Lancelot in particular. Every word he had said, everything he had done, how Lancelot had reacted in turn was all set out against everything else, taking priority over anything else that had happened that night. And he wasn't sure what he was more mortified of: the fact that he'd divulged Merlin's secret so carelessly, so  _recklessly_ and  _foolishly_ , or the fact that he'd admitted the depth of his feelings for his manservant—

When he thought about it for half a moment, he supposed he would have to deal with the thing that would have Merlin killed first, rather than the thing that might cause himself the most pain and embarrassment.

Lancelot wasn't the kind to go around blabbing such a secret all over the castle—either of them—but would he mention it to the other knights? Would he say anything to Gwaine or Percival, Elyan or Leon? He would mean no harm in such an act, but… how would  _they_  react? They had all sworn loyalty to his father, yes, but they had also sworn loyalty to  _him_ , and Merlin was their friend—their  _good_  friend…

He didn't doubt where his own loyalty laid—not anymore—but his knights…

He wasn't willing to bet Merlin's life on it, who they might side with, what they might do. His own, yes, but not Merlin's—never Merlin's.

Lancelot, though, was noble and brave, he was a good friend to Merlin and he  _had_  been long before he'd been Arthur's knight—surely, he would be just as loyal to Merlin as Arthur was?

"Arthur? _Food?_   _Breakfast?_  Any of this getting through that thick skull of yours or shall I have word sent to Gaius that you've come down with a mental affliction of sorts?" Merlin teased, gesturing to the food laid out on the table in the middle of the room, his armor shoved off to the side and nearly forgotten about until that moment.

He rolled his eyes and stood up, right, okay. The only way to settle the matter would be to catch Lancelot before he might get to the others. There wasn't any training until later that afternoon—there was  _never_  morning training the day after such a banquet took place—so he might be able to catch him before he ran into anyone else.

"I'm not hungry. Thought I might go for a walk, actually, try to get rid of the rest of this headache. Why don't you make yourself useful while I'm gone and polish my armor? I should be back by the time you've finished, you take so long with it." He said, ignoring the questioning look Merlin gave him at such a proclamation.

He brushed past him, however, straightening out his clothes and hair as best as he could as he did so. He might have changed into something new, if he weren't in such a hurry to get to Lancelot and fix what he'd done, but as it was, he would just have to hope that no one paid much mind to what he had been wearing the previous night.

He should have told Merlin—he  _should_ have—he knew; everything in him was screaming at him to do it, to tell him that he'd made a terrible mistake and that he hadn't meant to betray his trust like that…

But he couldn't.

As Merlin walked around him to the table, Arthur watched him wave a hand absentmindedly, setting about polishing his armor as he took a seat, watched his handiwork that involved little on his part, other than a golden hum of his eyes that passed within seconds, the objects moving of their own volition shortly...

He knew then, in that moment, that he couldn't tell him that he'd fucked up so badly without talking to Lancelot first—how could he do that and ruin what had just been repaired between them? Even so preoccupied with worry, he still noticed the change in Merlin when he used his magic like that, the way he seemed relaxed and at ease as his chore was done for him, lazily kicking his feet up against the table as he watched it. He seemed  _happier_ , now that he could do his magic in front of Arthur—he couldn't ruin that by telling him that he may have jeopardized it already.

He  _couldn't._

"Not even going to change first?" Merlin wondered, painting an image of concern and wondering of his own as Arthur reached the door, ready to search every inch of the castle until he found Lancelot if necessary. He was probably in his chambers, but he might also be out getting some extra training in, or perhaps he was wherever Gwen was, which might have been off running an errand or getting some chores done for Morgana...

"No, I won't be long." He said simply. "Oh, and  _Merlin,"_ he turned halfway, giving him a warning sort of look over his shoulder. He gestured at his armor, and the way it was floating just in front of Merlin, being polished to a fine shine. "Be careful with that—servants come in and out of here all day, sometimes without warning. If you get caught—"

"I won't get caught," he rolled his eyes. "Been doing it in front of  _you_  for  _years_  and you never caught on until it was literally staring you right in the face."

Arthur rolled his eyes back and sauntered out the door, being quick to close it tightly behind him in a fit of paranoia that anyone passing by would peer in around him and see.  _Lancelot_  he could convince not to say a word, but anyone else… He wasn't so sure.

As he twisted through the halls, once again tracing the familiar path to where Lancelot's chambers were, he thought of Merlin's passing remark to him just as he'd left the room.

_"Been doing it in front of_ you _for_ years _and you never caught on until it was literally staring you right in the face."_

How often, he wondered, had Merlin used his magic in front of him? How often had Arthur witnessed an act of his magic without even realizing it? Perhaps Merlin was at fault for never telling him about it, but Arthur was equally at fault, then, for never noticing what was looking right at him the entire time. How could he never notice such an important part of who Merlin was?

He was torn, suddenly. He knew he needed to find Lancelot, knew he needed to sort things out before word could get back to Merlin, but he also knew that he needed to know everything that Merlin had done for him. Right that second, he needed to know every instance his magic had been used, every time he'd saved someone, every time he had saved Arthur—other than that day with Liwry, had there been more? Had Merlin saved his life on more than one occasion? Why wouldn't he mention something like that?

His mind wasn't convinced, one way or the other, as to what he should do when he bumped into Gwaine, the knight's croon of, "Where's the fire, princess?" while good natured and teasing, falling upon deaf ears.

_Of course_  Gwaine was out and about so early in the day, he was used to drinking so much, so used to causing so much trouble and then needing to get a move on. Only  _he_  would be able to get completely pissed and shake it off the following morning without one of Gaius' drafts to ease the transition and make the day more bearable. Arthur found it in himself to hate that part of Gwaine for a fleeting moment before remembering his task for the morning.

"Did you just roll out of bed?" Gwaine asked, taking half a step back to give him a once over, face drawn up in humor and wondering.

"Yes." Arthur admitted, no use in denying it, not when he was in the same clothes from the previous night and his hair was a mess, face probably still stained with sleep, voice thick and heavy with a morning not yet accustomed to.

"And Merlin's letting you prance about the castle looking like _that?_ " He teased.

"Merlin doesn't tell me what to do, Gwaine— _he_  is the servant, and  _I_  am the prince, if you'll recall."

"Oh come on, now!  _That's_  never meant a thing to Merlin, has it? And with those rumors going around—well, it all makes sense now that he's the one always telling you what you can and can't do." He winked at Arthur, lips tugging upward with his chuckle.

Arthur froze for a moment, narrowed his eyes in confusion and accusation at Gwaine's words, a stab of coldness piercing his heart at the implications. Had he been too late, too slow? Had Lancelot said anything to, well,  _anyone?_ And if he had... who would  _they_  tell? Merlin was their friend as well, after all. But if there were rumors going around about his magic already…

He didn't have the luxury of time anymore, couldn't go to Lancelot before taking the talk to Merlin. If word was going around the castle, if his father heard of it… It might already be too late.

With fear like ice in his veins, he turned around abruptly, ignoring Gwaine's irritated and, quite frankly, put-out sound of indignation, and began the journey back to his room, arriving there in just a few moments and throwing his door open without warning.

His armor clattered to the floor, Merlin frozen in place at his spot on his chair, relaxing instantly when he saw it was just Arthur.

But it was wrong of him to be so relaxed, especially with word of his secret going around the castle—with the guards probably on their way to his room as they spoke to take him away to his father to be sentenced to death.

He closed the door, bolted it behind him, hands tremoring ever so slightly. It was wrong of him to have kept it from Merlin, he saw that now. If only he had said something the second he'd rolled out of bed, he might have already been away from the city by now, might have been heading towards safety.

Instead he was  _here_ , in danger, about to be sentenced to death because he was  _right_ , Arthur  _was_  a stupid drunk and if he wasn't so panicked he might have made a comment about that being the only time he would ever be right about anything. But dear God, he had really messed up, had really failed his friend.

And if anything happened to Merlin because of it...

He wasn't sure he would be able to live with himself.

~!~!~!~!~!

"What's wrong?" Merlin asked, frowning deeply as Arthur bolted the door and turned around to face him, his face drawn up in concern as he looked around the room, eyes landing everywhere  _but_  Merlin's for the longest of moments.

Merlin threw a glance to the armor on the floor and had it back to polishing itself in half a second before turning his attention back to Arthur. He couldn't quite recall a time when he'd seen his friend quite so frazzled, and it left him with a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, which grew even bigger when he began pacing in front of the door, stopped just as suddenly as he began, and walked over to Merlin, took the chair next to him and sat down, all concern and regret as he shook his head, let out a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Merlin." He said at last, voice almost cracking on the word.

Merlin gave him a wondering look, hadn't they already had this conversation? The one where Arthur apologized for being a right git and said he understood things now?

"What for?" Merlin asked.

"For… what happened last night." Arthur replied vaguely.

"You getting drunk? Happens all the time. Arthur—"

"No, no, not that—and hey, it does  _not_  happen all the time, I'm not Gwaine, for God's sake—"

"Often enough."

"Shut up. Just… shut up and  _listen_  for once, will you?"

And Arthur was in such a state, such a mood, that Merlin complied, held his hands up in surrender and sat back in his chair, allowed Arthur a moment to gather whatever thoughts he needed before starting in on his explanation of what was wrong, what had happened the previous night, what he had told Lancelot, what had happened just now with Gwaine—everything that added up to leave him in such a panic.

"—And I'm sorry, Merlin, really I am, but you need to  _go_. If it's going around the castle, if everyone knows, my father is going to find out and you need to leave the city before he can find you." Arthur stood up, began pacing the room once more, leaving Merlin to relax against the chair.

Jesus, and here he thought something  _terrible_  had happened when Arthur had come into the room like that!

It was almost sweet, he reflected, the way Arthur was so worried about him, about everybody finding out his secret. But, Merlin had to remind himself, he wouldn't  _need_  to do so much worrying if he'd just kept his damned mouth shut in the first place. He blamed it on the wine, but Merlin wasn't so sure. He had thought Arthur would be able to keep such a secret, that he could trust him and that things would be better between them because of it…

But to find out that he couldn't keep it to himself… Merlin was conflicted, to say the least, and just the slightest bit hurt.

"Why are you just  _sitting_   _there?_  You need to get up, you need to  _go._  I can help you arrange a horse, get you some supplies, get you as far as the woods—you could go home, to Ealdor. It's not perfect, but it isn't in my father's kingdom, and I doubt he would waste much manpower on the likes of you." Arthur went on, still pacing, darting about the room in thought and frustration. "It's not ideal, but I'd rather you leave than die, even if—I'd just rather you alive, Merlin, even if it's not here." He admitted, voice shaking once more as he came to a stop in his movements. He closed his eyes, opened them again with renowned strength and conviction a second later.

Merlin clicked his tongue, threw a look to the armor and had it placed carefully, slowly, on the table, polished and ready to be worn once again. With Arthur's eyes still on him, he stood up, deliberate and calm in his movements. For once,  _he_  was the calm one, and  _Arthur_  was the one worrying about everything, trying to figure out how to keep him alive and well, and out of harm's reach. He might have to remember this moment the next time he was in such a state, trying to figure out how to save Arthur's life once again.

"Relax, Arthur," he said gently. "Those rumors Gwaine was talking about—they're not about my magic." He could have laughed, then, at the look that came over Arthur's face at his words, confused and concerned in a way he would never let show under normal circumstances. Finding out about Merlin's magic really  _had_  thrown him for a loop, hadn't it?

"How the bloody hell could you know? You've been tucked up in here doing—doing  _magic_  tricks and—"

" _I_   _know_  because those rumors," he raised his eyebrows, and lowered his voice. And Arthur leaned in expectantly, his curiosity getting the best of him.

Well, if ever there was a time to inform him that half the castle thought he was courting his manservant, it was now. At least he wouldn't be so concerned with Merlin's imminent death, then. Moreso on revenge and the stocks and perhaps extra intense training sessions and a ban on visiting the tavern, but not his death, at least.

"Those rumors were started by Gwaine himself the other day after we came back from that druid camp; they've been circulating for at least a day, and you only spilled to Lancelot last night before bed—that's hardly enough time for half the castle to find out." He explained, hand coming to rest comfortingly on Arthur's shoulder.

"So what are the rumors  _about_ , then?" Arthur asked, visibly calmer now that he knew Merlin's life wasn't in such danger.

Merlin took in a breath, took his hand from Arthur's shoulder and turned around, walked back towards the table, wondering if it really was such a good idea to tell him. He was probably going to hear about it soon enough, anyway—probably from Gwaine himself, the cheeky bastard—and wouldn't it just be so much better to hear about it from Merlin than someone else?

"They're, uhm, about you… courting me." He mumbled, unsurprised that Arthur had heard him anyway, despite his best efforts to say it as quietly as possible.

"What?!"

"Yeah, Gwaine, he… well, that's what he was talking about—no one else knows about my magic, he was just being a git, so you can calm—"

"Courting you?  _Me?_  Courting  _you?"_  He demanded, sounding far more offended than he ought to have. "That's even worse than half the castle knowing you have magic—at least there's some truth in  _that!_ If my father hears about that—"

"He'll have my head?" Merlin joked.

Arthur let out a sort of half-chuckle, his face that of someone trying too hard not to be amused. " _Mer_ lin…"

"What? He's not going to hear about it. And even if he does, it's not  _true_ , he'll know that. He  _will_  know that, right?"

"Of course, you idiot! You're not— _I'm_  not—he's  _not_  going to believe it." Arthur declared, almost desperate in his tone. "And Gwaine started these rumors? Fine, right, I'll deal with him later." He nodded to himself, and then switched topics quickly. "But what are we going to do about  _Lancelot?_  The fact remains that I told him about this and… Do you think he would tell anyone? He's  _Lancelot_ , of course, but, I don't know…"

"He's not going to tell anyone." Merlin assured him.

"How do you  _know?_ We should find him, talk to him about this, convince him that he shouldn't—"

"I know he won't because… he already knew," Merlin admitted, because why not? As long as he was dropping bombshells on Arthur, he might as well add that one to it as well, to save them some sort of trouble, at least. "Lancelot. He's known about my magic for a while now." He added when Arthur just gaped at him, eyes wide, mouth open in what was outrage or shock or anger, Merlin wasn't sure which.

"Lancelot?" Arthur repeated after a moment of silence that was much too long and heavy for Merlin's liking. He hadn't actually expected Arthur to take the news in stride, but… Well, he wasn't sure what to expect, really, if he was being honest. Arthur really  _had_  made it a habit to surprise him as of late. Any expectations he might have had for the moment would have been shattered by the prince anyway.

" _Lancelot knew?_ Before  _me?_  How could you tell Lancelot and not  _me?_ God," He started pacing once again, this time more out of anger than concern. "Lancelot.  _Lancelot_." He repeated, in utter disbelief.

"Yes, Lancelot." Merlin confirmed needlessly.

"Lancelot! I can't believe you, Merlin! You've known me far longer than you've known him—how could you trust him more than you trust me?"

"It's not  _that,_  Arthur! He—"

There was a knock, then, tentative and quick, cutting through the tension, through the palpable anger and anxiety in the room that silenced both men instantly.

Arthur ceased his movements, straightened up ever so slightly and cleared his throat, and shook the anger off his face after giving Merlin another glare of disbelief. Merlin let out a sigh of sorts as he flicked a hand to unbolt the door, unsure just how much more he'd be able to take before snapping completely on Arthur himself. So much for being able to relax more now that Arthur knew.

"Enter." Arthur declared, his tone clipped as he walked away from Merlin, throwing him a look that said this was far from being over.

Merlin closed his eyes, flicked his tongue over his bottom lip in thought, contemplation, before opening them just in time to see Morgana walking through the door, a look of innocence painted on her face that Merlin didn't buy for even half a second. He scowled at her before flattening his features back into a look of indifference, his hands coming to clasp themselves behind his back as she approached Arthur.

She gave him a sort of wondering, gauging look, taking in his appearance as Merlin was sure everyone else who had seen him that morning had. He  _really_  should have gotten changed before he went prancing about the castle, God only knew what rumors would be going around by the end of the day because of it—especially considering the fact that he had run into  _Gwaine_  in such a get-up...

"Morgana, what can I do for you?" Arthur asked, his tone barely masking whatever irritation he was feeling.

"I need to talk to you, Arthur—privately." She clarified, shooting Merlin a look full of meaning.

Arthur looked back to him as well, nodded his dismissal without so much as a word of a chore or order he was meant to complete while he was gone.

"Sire. Morgana." He bowed slightly on his way out, then turned about and let out another sigh as he left the room.

Whatever Morgana meant to talk to Arthur about was probably very bad news indeed, but he couldn't very well tell Arthur that—or anything of the such, really. Leaving him with a very troubling problem to deal with: Did he tell Arthur about Morgana's betrayal, about her plans, about plotting with Morgause all those times to try to take over Camelot, or not? Did he tell Arthur that someone he viewed as a sister—someone who actually  _was_  his sister, technically, but he didn't know that—was working to betray him and his father? That she wanted the crown for herself? That she had magic? That she, unlike Merlin, would use it for evil, to kill him and his father?

Or did he keep it all to himself, just as he'd been doing?

What was he expected to do in such a situation?

~!~!~!~!~!

"What's this about, Morgana?" Arthur asked once the door closed and he was sure Merlin was long gone, perhaps to find Lancelot or run some errands for Gaius— _Gaius_. Did Gaius know about Merlin's magic? He had to have, he lived with him, after all, and Merlin was not that subtle about things, now that he had the chance to ponder over it all.

He shook all those thought off for the moment, however; it would do him no good to wonder over it now, of all times, when Morgana wanted something. He needed his wits about him whenever she wanted to talk.

So he crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the table slightly, and wondered, instead, about how much she might have heard before making herself known. Did she  _know_  anything, had she put anything together from what she'd heard?

Dear God, he might have finally understood why Merlin was such a bumbling idiot most of the time—all the fear and stress… It wasn't  _good_  for a person.

Morgana smiled at him, distracting him with something written in her eyes that made his stomach coil dreadfully. She reached for the pitcher sitting next to his untouched breakfast and helped herself to a cup of water, sipping thoughtfully, daintily, before setting it back down and returning her attention to him.

"I just wanted to talk." She told him.

"Right. About what?" He asked. Morgana never just wanted to  _talk_  unless she already had something up her sleeve. She had known the second she came to his door what she wanted and was only just toying with him now—he wasn't an idiot, after all. Even if he couldn't pick up on his manservant having bloody  _magic_ , he could still tell when Morgana was up to something, when she had an ulterior motive. And she definitely hadn't come to his room to just  _talk_.

"About Merlin, actually." She admitted with a sigh, shaking her head almost sadly.

"What about him?" he asked, ignoring the flicker of fear and panic that coursed through his blood. He had to stop doing that, getting so worried and concerned for his well-being just because someone mentioned his  _name_. He had to get himself under control, had to stop worrying so much. Like it was so damn easy to stop worrying about  _Merlin..._

"I… Last night, Arthur," she began, walking along the edge of the table to come stand next to him. "I saw how drunk you were, and I thought Lancelot might need some help with you after Merlin left you with just him," she sighed again, casting her eyes down as though the next words were impossible to speak. And dear God, was she going to say what he thought she was going to say? "So I followed the pair of you up here. After he got you into bed, I was going to leave, but… Then you started talking and you know how you get when you're drunk, Arthur, and…"

"And what?" Arthur prompted stubbornly, tone hard, insistent that she finish, just so he didn't jump to any wild conclusions.

"And I heard you, Arthur—I heard every word. I heard you tell Lancelot that Merlin has magic."

* * *

 


	10. Deep In The Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has no choice but to reveal his magic to Arthur when faced with a dire situation. But how does the prince take things? How will it change their relationship and the future of the kingdom?
> 
> "You're asking if I've forgiven him for gambling with my life?"

* * *

 

It was hard to go about his life as though everything were totally normal—given the week that Arthur had had, he thought it would be almost impossible to go out on patrol with Merlin, with the knights, and act as though everything was the same as it had always been.

But then they were on the horses, they were going through the forest, messing around, making small talk and jokes, and somehow it was easy to forget that Merlin had magic, that Morgana knew, that Lancelot had known before him—it was easy to fall back into the way things were, the way they had always been before everything else had happened. It was so easy to forget for a while.

But then there were the bandits, and suddenly it wasn't so easy.

It was a normal enough occurrence: they were riding through, all good-natured and fine-humored, him, Merlin, Lancelot, Leon, Gwaine, and Elyan—Percival had suffered an injury during morning training and had been unable to ride out with them due to Gaius' orders that he spend the day resting instead of fighting and training—riding, all on the look-out for what none of them suspected would happen. And the next thing they knew, bandits were attacking them, having jumped out from behind some trees. They dismounted—all of them, Merlin included—and drew their swords, Merlin hanging back as the knights took them on, defending themselves, protecting Merlin.

Immediately, Arthur's mind went to Merlin, to keeping him safe, because he didn't have a sword, and, even if he had, he wasn't the most skilled person in the world with one, even if he  _did_  do a damn fine job of it when he needed to. He glanced back when he heard the sound of someone charging at someone else and felt a gut-wrenching sort of feeling when he remembered that Merlin was in that direction.

When his eyes fell on Merlin, however, his eyes were golden, and the man who had been charging at him was knocked out on the ground. He caught Arthur's eyes just as his own returned to their blue hue, and shrugged sheepishly, threw a glance to just beyond Arthur's shoulder where a man was coming at Arthur. Before Arthur could react, Merlin's eyes were gold once again and the man grunted, falling to the ground just as Arthur whipped his head back around.

What the  _hell_.

Why would he—in front of so many people? The knights, though, all seemed too preoccupied to notice, seemed too caught up in the fight to spare Merlin even half a glance. No wonder he had gotten away with it unnoticed for so many years. They were all so…  _oblivious_  when fighting. Were they always like that? Was  _Arthur_  always like that?

He couldn't spare it a second thought right now, though; he needed to focus on the bandits, on keeping everyone safe. He turned back around just in time to slash at a man on his left. With a moment to catch his breath, he spared looks to his men, all standing firmly, swords in their hands, faces still contorted into that of a man in battle, trying to catch their own breaths. The forest was silent then, the bandits all lying dead or injured at their feet.

Arthur tucked his sword back away, slowly let his eyes fall on the others, taking them in as the adrenaline faded from his system and he came down from the rush of the fight. They were all a bit nicked up, but, for the most part, it was nothing Merlin probably couldn't fix with the herbs in his medicine bag and a break from riding.

~!~!~!~!~

"All right, that should do it," Merlin grinned in satisfaction as he finished wrapping up a wound on Gwaine's forearm. "How does that feel? Not too tight?"

"No, that's perfect, Merlin. Thank you." Gwaine grinned back, letting his sleeve fall back down.

"You're welcome," He stood up, wound up the rest of the bandage and then stood with his hands on his hips, took in the state of Lancelot, Leon, Elyan, and Arthur for a moment, seeming to gauge if he had anything else to do.

"That's everyone, then. Arthur, are we heading back or making camp for the night?" He asked, snapping Arthur from his reprieve. He had been using the time that had been more focused on taking care of the others to think—he really had been doing a lot of that lately.  _Too much_ , Merlin would probably joke, but, well, Merlin didn't need to know about any of it—to... contemplate, to sort things out, sort of.

"Camp." He said without much thought. It couldn't be helped, the knights needed rest, and Arthur needed more time to think things over away from the castle, away from Morgana, away from his father. Everything he was doing lately went against everything he had grown up with, but...

Well, this was  _Merlin_  he was dealing with, he was willing to overlook a few certain details of his up-bringing for him.

Granted, there were still too many loose ends that needed tying up, but if he was away from the castle for a little while, that was just more time to try to get a handle on things, really. The knights being injured, needed to rest, was the perfect excuse to stay away for a night.

"Camp it is," Merlin sighed, throwing his medicine bag down to rest next to Arthur. "I'll go get some firewood." He said, not waiting for Arthur to give out orders for anyone to do anything.

The knights all grumbled non-committingly, nodded their thanks to him for taking on the task, and Arthur let his head snap up to follow Merlin's form as he disappeared through the trees, leaving him and the knights to themselves for a few moments.

In the wake of Merlin's exit, they remained silent for the most part, lost to their own thoughts and injuries, maybe going over the battle they'd just fought in their heads. Arthur, however, was lost to something else, something outside of the mechanical swing of his sword and sting of the wounds Merlin had dressed. He was lost, as he always seemed to be lately, to thoughts of Merlin.

Merlin, who had magic.

Merlin, who only wanted to assure Arthur that everything was going to be all right.

Merlin, who had shared his secret with Lancelot before Arthur.

Merlin, who lived in fear for his life every day.

Merlin, who…

Was  _Merlin_.

But then, of course, there was also Morgana to worry about, to have to deal with. Arthur was sure,  _positive_ , that Lancelot wouldn't say anything to anyone—and Merlin seemed pretty convinced of that as well—but Morgana? Well, he loved her like a sister, yes, but she was finicky, and the second she told him she knew, he had felt an odd sort of…  _feeling_  wash over him, a foreboding sense that nothing was going to end well.

"Merlin's been gone a bit long to just be collecting firewood, someone should go see what's holding him up," Leon said some moments later, snapping Arthur from his rather unpleasant thoughts.

"I'll go." Gwaine shrugged, making to stand up before anyone else could say anything.

"That's not necessary, Gwaine," Arthur said, standing up himself. "I'll go."

"You're sure, princess? You might have to actually do some work, after all, if he needs help. Maybe it's better if I—"

"I know how to carry firewood, Gwaine." Arthur snapped, apologetic until he remembered all that Gwaine had done in the last few days. And then he wasn't.

The rest of the knights exchanged looks, curious, wondering, as Gwaine held up his hands in surrender and sat back down. Arthur shot him a look as he turned around, trailing off through the same trees Merlin had gone through not too long ago.

"Wonder what that's all about." Elyan murmured.

"Probably just wants some  _alone_  time with Merlin, if you know what I mean." Gwaine laughed.

"Arthur was pretty pissed the other night—maybe he just wants to talk about that." Leon suggested.

"You guys were all just as drunk as he was," Lancelot interjected on his behalf.

Gwaine said something else then, but Arthur was too far away to hear anymore and focused, instead, on tracing Merlin's path through the trees. Merlin was right, they didn't need to worry about  _Lancelot_  telling anyone. But Gwaine? If Gwaine ever found out, they would probably be screwed. He was a good friend, yes, but could he keep a secret?

A movement just behind some trees had Arthur stiffening, alert and on edge as he reached for his sword until Merlin's face popped out from behind the trees, grinning slightly as he eyed Arthur's hand on his sword.

"Come to have my head after all?" He asked cheekily as Arthur let out a breath and let his hand fall from his sword.

"I came to look for you—you're taking so long you might as well be chopping down the trees to get the wood." He rolled his eyes, climbed over a few stray roots until he came to stand near Merlin, hands coming to fall on his hips as he took in the admittedly small pile of firewood stacked in his arms.

"Sorry, not much firewood around here, you know," Merlin called attention to the pile in his arms and shrugged, shifted uncomfortably for a moment.

"Right, uhm, that's not actually all I came out here for…" Arthur added, one of his hands coming to rub the back of his neck nervously.

He had been thinking about this, about everything. He would rather have  _not_  put so much thought into all this, but, it was something that  _did_  require a lot of thought and oh God, he was even rambling in his mind now—everything about this situation was just so fucked it and confusing and  _ugh._ And Morgana—Morgana was  _not_  making things any easier with her, "Oh, maybe we should tell Uther," and "I can't believe he wouldn't tell  _us_ —his  _friends_ ," and promising not to say a word to anyone, because he was _Merlin_ , after all, and they owed him that much at least, but then smirking as she left the room.

If it came down to it, he wondered who he could trust more: Merlin or Morgana?

"Come to yell at me some more, then?" Merlin asked, his tone probably meant to be teasing, though Arthur could catch, just under the edges, the prickle of truth, the slight fear and worry there that  _yes_ , that was exactly what he had come out there for.

"No, Merlin, I've not come to yell—not this close to the knights, anyway," He added playfully, trying to ease the tension.

"What, then?"

"I just wanted to talk to you… About something."

"About…  _me?_ " Merlin asked, eyebrows shooting up suggestively.

"Yes." Arthur nodded.

"Is this really the place, Arthur? I mean, the knights—"

"They're not going to—we'd hear them. Can we just—for two minutes, Merlin?"

Merlin took his bottom lip in and thought for a moment before nodding. He let the pile of firewood fall from his arms and sat down on one of the roots near their feet, gave Arthur a look until he sat down right next to him, silence falling over the pair as the sounds of the forest played out around them.

_Right._

This was where Arthur was supposed to tell Merlin about Morgana knowing, about the conversation he'd had with her after he'd left Arthur's room. This was the part where he tried to fix things between them, where he cleared things up and left no more secrets between them. This was the part where—

"The thing about Lancelot," Merlin began hurriedly, looking down at his boots and messing at a spot of mud on them. "I didn't  _tell_ him, he just... Do you remember back when he first came to Camelot? Before when he was a knight the first time? With the griffin and you thought he killed it and wanted him to be granted his knighthood anyway even though your father—? Well,  _I_  actually killed it, there was a spell and—Lancelot heard me do it, he saw me use my magic and... He promised not to tell anyone, and then he left because he wouldn't take credit for something he didn't do. And he... he's known, all this time, and he's kept my secret for me all this time. That's why I've always been closer to him than the other knights—well, not counting Gwaine—but I  _swear_  Gwaine doesn't know! I just... I thought you should know." Merlin looked back up at him, face sorry and sheepish as he awaited Arthur's reaction.

Arthur made a small sort of sound that was completely un-knightly, and that he would deny ever making if questioned, as he smiled wonderingly at his friend.

"I... Hang on,  _you_  killed that griffin?"

"Yeah." Merlin nodded enthusiastically.

"And you've never thought to—nevermind, we can talk about that la— _really_? The griffin? What else have you—"

"Oh, plenty others. You can't  _begin_  to understand how many times I've had to save your royal backside without you knowing." Merlin laughed, his smile bright and the sound echoing off the trees marvelously with Arthur's.

He could have allowed the topic of conversation to go off like that, to find out how many times Merlin might have done exactly as he'd done that very afternoon for Arthur without him finding out, but... He  _did_  have other things he wanted to talk about. He wanted so badly for Merlin to get the recognition he deserved, he wanted to know everything that Merlin had done for him so he could thank him properly...

But there were other things that needed attending to.

"I'm not mad about that anymore, Merlin." He said. "I mean, I  _am_ , but it's not your fault that Lancelot found out like that. I just... I still wish you would have told me."

"I know. So do I, and, Arthur," Merlin turned to him. "I would have, but I didn't know..."

"How I would react." Arthur finished for him.

"Right." He nodded. "But now that I do—if I could go back in time, if I could do it over, I would have told you ages ago. Now that I know that you wouldn't—that you would keep my secret, I... I regret not telling you, Arthur. I do." Merlin told him, his blue eyes looking so sincere and deep and full of the truth and regret that Arthur was ready to forgive him, just like that. So he did.  _But._

"Merlin... You had to know," Arthur shook his head slightly, biting his lip as he avoided glancing down at Merlin's. "That I would do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I would never let my father—I would never let anyone—do anything to you."

"Arthur..."

"Never, Merlin.  _Never."_ Arthur repeated, his own eyes hard with his resolution as he felt his resolve breaking, felt everything he'd been keeping in for the past few days in bubbling to the surface, breaking free from his lips before he could think to halt them. "When I thought that the entire castle was going to find out about your magic, I was so worried that my father was going to have you put to death—I've never been that terrified and worried in my  _life_ , Merlin! And I just... I would have done anything to keep you from that fate—I still would. I... would do  _anything_  for you, Merlin.

"I know I've been out of sorts with you lately, pushing you away, locking you out, and I know I already apologized for that, but I needed time to  _think_ , I needed to understand things, I needed to know that I was doing the right thing. I needed to know how I felt about everything. And you  _know_  how hard things like  _feelings_  are for me." He made a face as Merlin clearly held in a laugh, trying to hide his amusement at the statement that Arthur had made simply for that fact, as Arthur caught his breath, calming slightly as he let it all out.

"How do you feel, then? Now that you've had time to sort it all out?" Merlin asked curiously.

Arthur gave him a tired smile. "I didn't say I'd had it all figured out just yet."

"What  _have_ you figured out, then?"

Arthur took in a breath, let it out slowly. "That I forgive you. That I wish you would have told me sooner. That you deserve more credit than I give you. That maybe there's more going on than I understand, than you've been able to tell me before now. As soon as I figure anything else out..."

"You'll let me know?"

"Thought I'd tell Lancelot, actually, and let you figure it out on your own." He nudged Merlin playfully, teasing now.

"Thought you'd forgiven me."

"Doesn't mean I'm not still upset."

"You are  _such_  a girl's petticoat." Merlin rolled his eyes.

"That's  _my_ insult, you dollophead."

"That's  _my_  insult, you clotpole."

Arthur chuckled, still in a wonder, even after all this time, that Merlin would talk to him like that. He supposed, in the moment between heavy topics and secrets, that that was all just part of his charm.

Nothing else was said, however, as Lancelot, of all people, came through the trees then, eyes searching until they rested upon the pair, curious and wondering as he took them in. His eyebrows shot up but he said nothing on the subject of them sitting too close, smiling too hard, a sort of laughter and something else entirely hanging in the air between them.

"The others are getting cold and hungry—you know how they get when they're hungry." He said simply. "Are you two ready to head back to camp yet? I don't think I can keep them placated for too much longer."

"You've been keeping them from coming out here?" Arthur asked as he stood up and picked up the pile of firewood Merlin had let fall to the ground minutes before.

"Well, Gwaine didn't exactly  _choose_  to stay put after you'd been out here for so long." Lancelot said, throwing a knowing look to Merlin.

Arthur looked between them, obviously there was a meaning of some sort in what was being said, obviously there was something  _else_  going on that Arthur didn't know about, but enough secrets had been revealed for today, so he let it drop and turned about, walking past Lancelot and putting some distance between them as he and Merlin whispered amongst themselves about something or another, forgetting, for the moment, that he had meant to tell Merlin about his conversation with Morgana. It would just have to wait—not much harm in that, after all.

~!~!~!~!~

"What was that all about?" Lancelot whispered to Merlin as Arthur walked ahead of them, carrying the firewood Merlin was meant to be carrying.

"Arthur was being... I don't know,  _nice?"_ Merlin whispered back, somewhat confused in his tone.

Lancelot looked at Arthur's back, at the stubborn set of his shoulders as he picked up his pace, almost running back through the trees as though he could just  _tell_  that Lancelot and Merlin needed a moment.

"Understanding, I mean," Merlin shrugged, his eyes hooded as he watched Arthur as well. Lancelot recognized  _that look_ , of course, but he couldn't push  _that_  subject—not here, not now. "Said he's forgiven me for... Not telling him all these years." He shrugged again.

"And what about you?" He asked without pause, wondering if Merlin saw the situation the same as he might have had it been anyone but Arthur involved.

"What about me?"

"Have you forgiven him? For telling me your secret?"

"You already knew." Merlin said, slowing his pace as they neared the camp.

"But Arthur didn't know that. As far as he knew, he had just given away your biggest secret and cost you your life. If I hadn't known, if I had been anyone else, you wouldn't be here right now, Merlin. Have you forgiven him for being so reckless with your secret?"

"You're asking if I've forgiven him for gambling with my life?" Merlin stopped short in his tracks, eyes trained on the group of trees that hid their camp, that hid their friends, from view.

Lancelot shifted, pausing as well. "Yes. You don't need Arthur's forgiveness, Merlin—you were doing what you thought would save your own life, there isn't any shame in that."

"But there is shame in telling a secret?"

"In telling a secret that could cost your friend their life." He corrected. He didn't want to broach such a subject, didn't want to upset Merlin with such fine details and thoughts when he had looked  _so happy_  just moments before, but... It was something that he needed to think about, for himself, for Arthur.

Merlin let out a sigh, hands on his hips as he pursed his lips. "If Gwen..." he began slowly, voice hushed and hurried. "Told me something about you that she didn't know I knew but I  _did_ , would you have to search within yourself to forgive her?"

Lancelot didn't even need to  _think_  about it—of course he wouldn't! But then, he was completely and totally...

Right,  _of course_  that was what this was about. He  _had_  recognized that look on Merlin's face just a moment ago—the sort of look that Lancelot often had on his own face when he looked at or thought about Gwen. He shouldn't have been surprised that it all came back to that, to...

"I suppose not." He nodded slowly after a moment. Then, after a beat, asked, "Did Arthur mention what he said to me that night? Other than the bit about your secret, I mean?"

Merlin gave him a look, confused and wondering. "No. What else—"

" _Merlin! Lancelot!"_ Arthur's voice cut through the rest of the sentence, calling them from the camp not a few feet away.

"Nevermind, we can... talk about it later?" Lancelot suggested. Merlin nodded and turned, walking towards the camp with a slight roll of his eyes at Arthur's interruption.

Lancelot watched him for a moment until he disappeared behind the trees, heard his voice join the others before he finished the walk back to camp himself. At the very least, it would be a peaceful night that night, with Merlin and Arthur talking once again. He suspected Gwaine might be in a bit of a mood, but if Merlin goaded him enough, he too would join in the laughs and stories that were being told. In time, Merlin would simply have to have a chat with the knight who sought more than friendship from him—if Merlin could see it without it being pointed out to him, that was—but for that night alone they could all be well and happy for a moment.

Things did not stay calm in Camelot for too long at a time, after all, as Lancelot knew all too well. Best to enjoy it while they could.

* * *

 


	11. Not All Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is so much you don't know—about you, about me, about our destiny, about our future. Everything I do, I do for you, for _us,_ for the future we will create together."

* * *

 

*

  
Arthur had to be angry—he  _had to be._ He was a Pendragon, and just like his father he was known to his little outbursts when things did not go his way or when faced with a situation such as the one Arthur currently found himself in. Morgana had hoped to poke at that anger in her little talk with Arthur, had hoped to find it, to use it, play him against Merlin, but he had been so...

_  
Calm_. So  _worried_  about his damned manservant that he'd practically begged her— _begged her!_ —not to breathe a word to anyone about it. Not to Gwen, not to Uther, not to the knights or Gaius or Merlin or  _anyone._ Of course, she had promised him that she wouldn't say a word to anyone, to placate him, to make him think that she was still on his side, because it appeared as though Merlin hadn't said anything about her treachery to him—a foolish move if ever there was one.

  
Arthur would do anything to keep Merlin's little secret  _safe_ —he would even disinherit his own father, if his drunken ramblings were really to be believed. How, though, could she get him to that point? How could she make him choose between the crown and his precious Merlin? She could just come out to Uther with the accusations, he would take her word over a servant's any day, as he was still under the impression that she was his loving ward. But Arthur would be alerted to her true intentions then, as informing Uther of Merlin's little  _secret_  without prompt or reason would tell him she was up to something—the Morgana he thought she still was would  _never_  do something like that.

  
No, she needed a  _reason_  to tell Uther. Needed something to give Arthur as an excuse for her actions.

  
A spell, then. A simple enough spell to blame on the boy.

  
She spent a couple of days mulling it over, sitting through meals with Uther, with Arthur, with Merlin and Gwen hovering nearby, serving them, Merlin pretending to be perfectly normal and pleasant. There was still with no word from Morgause as to what the next step in their plan would be, or even what their over-all plan would even  _be,_ so she did have plenty of time to mull her own plan and actions over.

  
She suspected her sister might have been consulting with Cenred or someone else, planning without Morgana, no doubt. She wished her sister would involve her more, would seek her input rather than telling her what would happen, what part she was to play. She was more than willing to work with her sister, to do what was needed to do, but she wanted a  _hand_  in what was happening damnit. She wanted her sister to seek her guidance, wanted her to know that Morgana had something to offer, wanted her to realize that just because her powers were still developing didn't mean that she could not still be of use.

  
This, of course, would be her chance to prove that to her. Prove that she could plan and execute all on her own. It had to be a good plan, of course, it needed thought, it needed a personal touch, it needed to be simple and elegant and it needed to prove her worth...

  
The idea came to her one afternoon as she passed by a group of knights, Sirs Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, and Percival. The previous night, Arthur and a handful of his knights—and  _Merlin_ , of course—had spent the night away from the castle, reporting when they returned that they had been detained by a group of bandits that left most of the men injured and in need of rest before they could journey back to the castle.

  
Such was a normal enough occurrence, of course, and, though it was a trivial enough subject, Gwaine, Leon, and Elyan were filling Percival in on what he had missed, having been unable to ride out with them the previous day due to a minor injury of some sort. It was rather dull, unimportant and a tad dreary, what they were saying, but then Gwaine mentioned something about a rumor of sorts, and they all laughed about Arthur and Merlin and something being there between them that maybe the pair of them couldn't quite admit to yet, and suddenly it clicked, how she could do it, how she could set Merlin up, how she could give herself reason enough to turn him in to Uther and get things set in motion—all on her own, without Morgause's help.

  
And it would be so easy, too—it was such a simple spell! Child's play, really. All she needed was five minutes alone in Arthur's room and a few days for the full affect to be felt by the dear prince, for it to be seen by Uther, assessed by Gaius—not even a week's worth of preparation, a few simple words, a few herbs, and a few days time for the spell to take over completely, was all it would take for the crown to be hers.

  
The downfall of the Pendragons couldn't have been any closer.

  
*

  
"I need to know  _more_ , Merlin." Arthur announced unexpectedly as he took his breakfast one morning.

  
It was a couple of days after their latest talk in the woods, and so far things had been...  _quiet_  in Camelot. They hadn't had to venture far from the castle for anything other than the occasional patrol, there had been no attacks, few bandits caught about. It was just too quiet and it put Merlin on edge when he had any moment of downtime—things were never quiet in Camelot.  _Never._

  
"So read a book—there are plenty around the castle and I am fairly certain you know how to read." He retorted, half distracted as he flicked his eyes in the direction of Arthur's boots and put them to their polishing, put his sword to sharpening itself, his armor to shining. He couldn't seem to get over how freeing it was to be able to do such simple magic in Arthur's room now—just in Arthur's room. There was hardly a place in Camelot where he was free to do his magic in solitude and safety—and really, no where was entirely  _safe_  to practice magic of any sort in Camelot, but Merlin would take his refuge wherever he could—so to be able to add Arthur's room, of all places, to that list... It thrilled him in an unspoken way he didn't think Arthur would ever truly understand.

  
Since their little talk out in the woods, their relationship had shifted slightly. Arthur, true to his word, seemed to be treating Merlin as though he truly  _had_  forgiven him, and, beyond that, there was a certain...  _Respect_  in the way Arthur treated him now. They still teased one another and joked about, that dynamic would probably never change—not that Merlin wanted it to—but sometimes he would catch Arthur watching him when they were tucked up in his room and Merlin was doing magic of some sort, and the look in his eye... Merlin wasn't sure what it was, but it was nice and different and he wasn't entirely sure if he liked or loathed that look, simply because he didn't completely understand it.

  
Gaius and Lancelot were both a tad apprehensive about the over-all way Arthur was dealing with things, but if Merlin thought he was handling it well, if he trusted Arthur enough, if he was sure that was the end of things and that they could move past it and get on with their lives normally... They certainly weren't going to object.

  
"You might want to keep him away from the wine, however; Lancelot won't always be the one to drag Arthur up to bed when you're otherwise disposed of; there are other servants who are more loyal to the king than to you or Arthur." Gaius had said.

  
"Trust me," Merlin had assured him. "Arthur will  _not_  be getting that drunk ever again—not if he knows what's good for him."

  
Gaius had raised an eyebrow at him, but allowed the conversation to slip away as they made their way through the market, picking up a few supplies that he needed to treat a few patients for the rest of the day in silence.

  
But despite all the doubts and lingering questions, it was just nice to be able to be himself around Arthur. It was just...  _really nice._

  
"What I want to know,  _Mer_ lin," Arthur said, rolling his eyes at the vague insult. "Can't be found in any books—not around here, at any rate."

  
"Something about magic, then?" Merlin asked carefully, his eyes shifting from his work to Arthur. He was sitting just across the table from him, resisting the urge to kick his feet up onto a chair or the table itself. They were on good terms, yes, and Arthur was warming up to him using his magic so freely around him, but the subject was hardly broached verbally around the castle, merely hinted at with subtle head tilts and gestures, a secret sort of language all their own that would be the death of Merlin should anyone ever crack it. And for Arthur, of all people, to just bring it up, so out of the blue like that... Well, this was a big sort of moment for him.

  
"Yes. Specifically,  _your_  magic." He replied.

  
Merlin blanched at him, eyes widening and a clanging sound coming from just behind Arthur. Merlin's eyes darted as Arthur twisted around in his chair, taking in the sight of his armor and sword spread out on the floor in a small sort of paradise of chaos, his boots still safely hovering in the air. Arthur turned back around, gave Merlin a wondering, questioning look that Merlin looked away from, mumbling a spell to set the sword and armor back to their task and keep them that way, regardless of further surprise and a momentary lapse of control.

  
"Sorry," Merlin shrugged, allowing his eyes to come back to Arthur as his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "You... surprised me."

  
"I surprise you so my armor crashes to the floor?" Arthur asked, a teasing sort of tone to his voice. "That might explain all the dents I never remember putting in it, actually. You do seem to scare quite easily for someone with such  _skills."_

  
Merlin rolled his eyes and slumped down in his chair, watching Arthur cut into another bite of his breakfast before pushing away his plate, still half uneaten. "Did you want any of this?" He asked absent-mindedly, picking up his cup to take a sip.

  
"Mm-mm." Merlin shook his head, watching him wonderingly until he sat his cup back down and turned his attention back to Merlin, silence between them until Merlin cleared his throat. "So. You... wanted to talk? About my magic?" He asked, rather unsure.

  
"Yes."

  
"What about it?"

  
"Why did you... How long have you..." Arthur trailed off, an aggravated sort of look on his face as he searched for the right words.

  
Merlin raised an eyebrow, in no way trying to hide his amusement at the prince being so tongue-tied. This was a very serious situation, he was aware, but...

  
How often was Arthur like this? Stumbling over his words, struggling with what to say—or rather, how often was he like that with Merlin? No, he always had something to say, there was always a retort of some sort on the tip of his tongue, always a sarcastic reply or teasing to be thrown Merlin's way.

  
He decided, then, that he would enjoy these little moments of Arthur being left speechless whenever he could, the only sort of thing that there was to distract him, for the moment, from the peace and quiet that was so uncharacteristic for a place like Camelot that set him on edge and messed with his nerves if he allowed it to.

  
"Why did you come to Camelot?" Arthur finally blurted out.

  
Merlin held his gaze for a long moment, allowing the feeling in the air to rest, permeate, before nodding slowly, the amusement draining from him as he realized from Arthur's serious look, from the way he was playing with the base of his cup, fingers needing to move nervously, restlessly, that this— _this_  was going to be  _that_  sort of conversation.

  
"Because my mother wanted me to." He answered, hit with the sudden realization that Arthur had never actually wondered, had never asked him that before. He knew of Merlin's mother, of Ealdor, obviously, and he knew that Merlin somehow came to be in Gaius' guardianship, but he had never seemed to question the series of events that might have led to him leaving Ealdor for Camelot. Strange how they could be so close for so many years and he had never asked such a simple question before. Before that morning, however, Merlin wasn't sure what he might have told Arthur in reply, had he questioned him, so perhaps it had been for the best.

  
"But it's not  _safe_  here, Merlin." He insisted, exasperation written in his tone, in the pull of his eyebrows and the set of his jaw. "Not for you, not for your kind. Why would she—"

  
"It's not safe in Ealdor, either." He interrupted, trying to keep from looking hurt at Arthur's  _your kind_  comment.

  
"But surely it's safer there than here?"

  
Merlin gave him a wry sort of smile, the look of confusion on his face almost endearing. "Safer there? Arthur, the first time you were there was because it was under attack, and you call it  _safer?"_

  
"Safer for you, I mean," Arthur clarified, a roll of his eyes and flourish of his hand telling Merlin that he was taking this seriously, his actions too controlled, too... forced to be casual. "Magic isn't outlawed in Cenred's kingdom, after all."

  
"No, it's not," Merlin agreed. "But it's not exactly... We're not exactly looked upon favorably. If someone suspects you of magic there, what do you think happens? You think they accept you with open arms, Arthur? That they encourage your gifts? It's no better there than it is here, I was still in danger there—so was my mother, so was Will; if any one is suspected of harboring or associating with people with magic, terrible things are done to them." He lowered his eyes, stories, tales, whispers among the villagers back home behind closed doors rushing through his head as dreadful things being done to suspected sorcerers were related, glee in some of the voices, pity, anger, in others. It was the thing of nightmares for him, paralyzing him with fear in the dead of night for what might happen to his mother should anyone ever find out, and then, briefly, after Will found out, what might be done to him and his mother.

  
It might have, technically speaking, been safer for  _Merlin_  in Ealdor, but it wasn't for the people he cared about. At least, if he was found out in Camelot, it would only be him that would have to suffer; Gaius could get out of it, escape punishment by feigning innocence—Uther did have a soft spot for his old friend—and no one else knew, no one but Lancelot and Arthur, and if both of them lied, denied it—why would Uther have any sort of reason to suspect them, anyway?—he would believe them, their word meaning more than Merlin's ever would.

  
It was safer for everyone that Merlin came to Camelot.

  
A light pressure on one of his hands had him looking up, Arthur's on top, squeezing it gently, a genuine look of concern on his face. Merlin smiled at him, sat up slightly and bit his lip.

  
"If magic isn't out-lawed," Arthur began softly, "Then why—"

  
"Your father's reach is farther then you know." Merlin interrupted, sensing where he was going. "He's... Ealdor is so close to the border between the kingdoms, that it's just... easier than you would think for fear to reach out and grip people there. All over the five kingdoms, Arthur, people shun magic, the old religion, because of Uther Pendragon and the things he does to people who practice it. So many are suffering  _outside_  of your kingdom because of what happens  _inside_  it."

  
Arthur's face contorted into something heartbreaking as he took his hand back and oh God, did Merlin regret saying that now that his hand felt light and cool without Arthur's against it, but... It had to be said—this conversation  _needed_  to happen. It was hard, it was...  _so hard_ , but, somewhere in him, he knew that if they couldn't have this simple conversation, they could never...  _Never_...

  
"I'm sorry, Merlin." Arthur shook his head, remorse written in the curve of his lips around the words as his hands came to clutch his cup tighter, the room quiet for a moment other than the dull sounds of Merlin's chores being done nearby as Arthur looked down, shame written in his every movement.

  
After a pregnant moment, Merlin let out a sigh, leaned forward across the table and let one of his hands come to rest on Arthur's, gave his clasped fingers a squeeze until he looked up at him. "It's not your fault, Arthur, you—"

  
"When I'm king, Merlin." He interrupted, jutting his chin out as his eyes locked with Merlin's, an intensity written in their blue depths that made a pleasant sort of chill run through Merlin. "Things will be different, I promise. You and your kind... it won't be like this for you when I am king, Merlin, you have my word."

  
"That's a nice thought, Arthur, but—"

  
"No  _buts_ , Merlin. I promise, you will not have to fear for your life or hide in the shadows anymore. When I am king, you will receive the recognition you deserve."

  
"That's not why I do anything, Arthur." Merlin shook his head. "I don't want recognition or rewards, that's not... that's not why I do  _any_  of what I do."

  
"Then why—"

  
"I do it for  _you_ , Arthur. Always for you, only for you. There is so much you don't know—about you, about me, about our destiny, about our future. Everything I do, I do for you, for  _us_ , for the future we will create together."

  
"Merlin—"

  
"And there isn't enough time  _now_ ," He interrupted again. "To... go over all of it, but, I promise, I will tell you everything in time, but not today, it would be too much too soon, and... Things have gone back to normal between us, I don't want to lose that again so soon. So. What do you want to know about  _my_  magic?" He asked, clarifying with a tone of finality that he really wasn't going to get into  _everything_  in that moment. No matter how badly he wanted to, there simply was not enough time in the day to do such a thing.

  
"I..." Arthur shook his head, thought clouding his face for a moment as he gave Merlin a sort of  _look_ that he couldn't quite read.

  
Merlin sighed, pulled his hand back and leaned back in his chair, waiting for Arthur to form whatever thoughts he needed to for a few long moments, the silence heavy but welcome. Absent-mindedly, Merlin threw a look over to the armor, boots, and sword, and in an instant had them all around him, inspecting them, going over the work that had been done to make sure it was all satisfactory, before sending them to their rightful places, the armor laid out on the bed, boots sitting on the floor, sword back in its place.

  
He turned back to Arthur then, raised a silent eyebrow. He enjoyed this little  _talk_  of theirs, but, sitting there, doing nothing... It wasn't something Merlin was used to. He tapped his foot silently, almost impatiently, it really was too early in the day for Arthur to allow him such peace and comfort.

  
"How long have you... been... Practicing magic?" He asked at last, the sentence almost forced and too thought out.

  
"My whole life. I... I was  _born with it_ , Arthur, it's not something I  _chose."_  He clarified, eyes back on Arthur.

  
"I thought that people who practice magic choose to do so?"

  
"You really think I would choose such a thing? Knowing what my fate would be? You think my mother would let me  _choose_ something like this? You think Gaius would let me get away with this if I had simply  _chosen_  it? I was born like this, Arthur. I've been doing it since before I could talk, if you believe the stories my mother tells. I was born with it." He repeated tersely, watching Arthur carefully, gauging his reaction.

  
"So," he nodded slowly, understanding creeping across his face. "People don't choose it? It's just... something you're born with?"

  
"Some people, yes," Merlin nodded. "Others choose to study it, to learn about it and harness the power. But the people like me, people who are born with this magic, with this...  _power_ , that they don't understand, that they can't always control... they don't choose this, Arthur. People like me  _do not_  choose who we are, but," he shook his head, a small smile playing out on his lips. "We  _do_  choose what we do with it. And  _I_  choose to use my magic to protect you and our friends and the kingdom that you will one day rule."

  
"Not all magic is bad." Arthur nodded slowly, his tone one of wonder and realization.

  
Merlin smiled at him, pride welling within him as he could  _see_  connections being made, could tell that he was coming out from under the shadow his father had cast upon him his entire life, pushing against everything he had been taught his entire life. He was seeing reason, he was listening, he was learning. This was not the Arthur he was used to, but it was the Arthur he would be, the Arthur he was meant to be, who would rule a fine kingdom some day. And  _this_ —this was just the beginning. The beginning of what he could know—now that he  _knew—_ and the beginning of  _something else_  entirely...

  
This, however, would make things all the more difficult when it came time to tell him about Morgana—should he ever need to. How could he explain to him that his  _sister_  of all people—and explaining the fact that Morgana was related to him would be something else entirely—would choose to use her magic to do such harm to their father, to him, to the kingdom? How could he explain that he had once had the chance to help her with her powers and had, instead, turned his back on her? How would he explain anything about Morgana to Arthur without losing him, without making him ashamed of him?

  
"No. It's not." Merlin swallowed. "It's just the people. Magic is not something that is good or evil, it's not black and white. It's... it's  _pure_ , how you use it, what your intentions are, that's the only thing that matters in magic. Magic itself is... it's something else, Arthur. It's amazing, and it can do amazing things if you let it, but if not, then it can cause chaos, it can destroy lives and families. But denying that there is good in it and damning everyone who has it, who uses it... That can cause even more chaos and destruction." Merlin finished, all his words level and controlled, thought out months,  _years,_  in advanced. This was the sort of conversation he had always imagined having with Arthur, after all, and, well, he would have been a fool to not have been prepared for it when it finally came.

  
"I think... I'm starting to understand." Arthur nodded slowly. His eyes soft with the understanding he promised. "Tell me more. About  _you,_  about  _your_  magic."

  
Merlin grinned, his stomach doing a sort of flip at Arthur's words. So long he had been waiting for this moment, for the time when Arthur would know about Merlin and  _request_  information about everything. He had been waiting  _so long_  for this moment. Arthur would never understand, truly, what this meant to him, as he went into details describing his life before Camelot, how his magic had been... less than controllable and, while he had never been  _caught_  doing anything by anyone other than his mother or Will, it  _did_  get him into quite a bit of trouble. And then there was his life  _in_  Camelot, how he had saved Gaius' life that first day, and learning to control it, reading those books and studying long into the night to break the odd spell or two or to save a few lives...

  
By the time it was closing in on noon, they were still sitting there, Merlin explaining his being able to slow down time and how it  _really_ came in handy when he needed it most, when there was a hesitant rapt on the door and they both froze, Merlin's blood chilling for a moment until Arthur, voice steadily controlled, called for whoever was there to enter.

  
"Just me, boys." Lancelot said, holding up his hands as he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

  
Merlin grinned, shoulders relaxing as the knight approached the table, greeting him and Arthur.

  
"I assume you were talking about magic?" He asked after a moment.

  
"Yes." Merlin nodded.

  
"I figured—Arthur has this over-whelmed sort of look on his face." He said, almost teasing as his eyes shot between the pair at the table. Arthur made a sort of face and shook his head, rolling his eyes as Merlin nodded in amused agreement.

  
"Well rest assured, I couldn't hear whatever you were saying from outside the door," He said told them. "The door is thick enough, but, just in case you were worried about that." He shrugged.

  
"Thank you, Lancelot." Arthur said, nodding at him. "So what do you need?"

  
"Ahm," Lancelot shook his head, straightened himself out, seeming to remember where he was and that he had a reason for being there. "Actually, your father sent me to look for you—he's holding up a council meeting that you were supposed to be at right now."

  
"Damnit," Arthur hissed, pushing back from the table. "I forgot all about that—why didn't you remind me?" He asked Merlin, scrambling around for the appropriate attire to attend said council meeting.

  
Merlin shrugged and got up as well, quickly helping Arthur into his clothes as Lancelot looked on, slightly bemused as the pair of them moved about, otherwise staying out of their way.

  
"I forgot, too." He said simply. And he  _had._ He knew it was his job to keep up with these things, to keep Arthur on time and in the right places at the right time, but... He had been so engrossed in their conversation, in the blissful sort of feeling that flowed through him at  _finally_  being able to tell Arthur things that... It had simply slipped his mind for the time being.

  
"It's still your job to remind me of these things,  _Mer_ lin."

  
"I know, I'm sorry," He grumbled, securing Arthur's cape in place at last and taking a step back from him.

  
"Good." Arthur nodded, fingering the fastening of his cape for half a moment before turning towards the door. "I'll expect you outside the council chambers after the meeting is over. Shouldn't be more than a couple of hours."

  
"Right." Merlin nodded. "Anything else you want me to do, in the meantime?"

  
Arthur paused at the door, gave him a sort of look over his shoulder before shaking his head. "No. I suppose you should just go see to whatever sort of errands Gaius has for you." He said flippantly, quickly exiting the room without another word.

  
In the silence that followed his departure, Merlin turned to Lancelot, who was giving him the oddest sort of looks, a smile on his face, bold and knowing.

  
"What?" Merlin asked.

  
"Nothing," Lancelot shook his head. "I was just wondering if maybe those rumors Gwaine started weren't such lies after all."

  
"Arthur is not courting me, Lancelot," Merlin rolled his eyes at the absurdity of it, at  _Lancelot_ , of all people, willing to put such stock into such a thing. Honestly, Merlin knew he was in love and everything, but, well, that didn't mean he had to look for it everywhere else as well, especially where it definitely was not.

  
"Maybe not, but there  _is_  something about the two of you lately."

  
"It's nothing. Arthur  _knows_  now, and... we're just working through everything. I'm giving him answers and we're talking about things. He's trying to understand, that's all."

  
"And what about the way he looked at you just now?"

  
"He was telling me I don't have any chores to do."

  
"And he didn't bother to yell at you for not reminding him about the council meeting. He would usually be angry that you let him almost miss something like that, but it was like he didn't even  _care_ , Merlin; he scolded you like he was doing it out of habit more than anything else."

  
Merlin let out a sigh, exasperated. He expected to have to have this sort of conversation with Gwaine, maybe Leon or Percival or Elyan, but not Lancelot, Lancelot was supposed to be on  _his_  side here, laughing with him about the rumors, not questioning whether they were true or not.

  
"Do you  _wish_  the rumors were true?" Lancelot asked then, his voice soft and understanding.

  
Merlin's head shot to face him, his eyes wide, pace quickening. He swallowed down that feeling—the feeling of absolute  _yes_ , and stood with his hands on his hips for half a moment before sighing.

  
"Arthur is expected to marry a—"

  
"—a princess, I know. That's not what I'm asking, Merlin."

  
"So what  _are_  you asking, then?"

  
"I'm asking... if you're in love with Arthur."

  
*

* * *

 


	12. Actually Going To The Tavern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he could enjoy Merlin's useless—and _not so useless_ —prattle without calling it love, couldn't he?

* * *

 

*

  
The days passed slowly and faithfully, time passing too calmly in Camelot. Most of those days were spent around the castle, with Arthur and Merlin only riding out on patrol once or twice. The rest of the time, Arthur attended his usual meetings with his father, trained his knights, and enjoyed the peace while he could.

  
Most mornings that week, Merlin was in Arthur's room from the second the sun came up and, when he came around to see to his duties at the end of the day, turn down Arthur's covers, he often stayed late into the night, filling Arthur in on everything he could ever want to know, the pair talking well into the night even when they knew they would need to be up first thing in the morning. Arthur couldn't help it, there was so much more to Merlin, so much more to magic and all the things he could— _had_ —done with it. How could he have ever thought it was  _evil?_ How could his  _father_  think it was evil? The things Merlin had done for him, for both of them, for the kingdom—how could his father think that was evil at all?

  
He found out in those talks, in the way Merlin's eyes lit up, the way his lips quirked up when he was allowed to speak freely, the way he was calm and  _himself_  when he did simple spells that he brushed off easily enough to do something or another but that transfixed Arthur, that there was something about this magic of Merlin's, something about the way it almost  _was_  him, that amazed Arthur. It was just... Now that he had the chance, the time, to observe him, watch him do his magic, it was...

  
Something he couldn't quite place. It was amazing, really. The fact that his father would have Merlin put to death for it, for something as beautiful and amazing as his magic, an extension of who he was... It was impossible to believe, to follow such logic.

  
And then there was Merlin again, and the way he lit up when it was just the two of them in his room, the way he blushed when he got too over-enthusiastic about something or another and Arthur stared at him in wonder. There had always been something about Merlin that had captivated him before—there had  _always_  just been  _something_ about Merlin—something that Arthur felt deep inside him when he and now... Well, now it was just harder to pinpoint exactly what that something  _was._  Because, if he squinted hard enough, he thought it might look something like love.

  
And he didn't  _love_  Merlin.

  
He was infatuated, sure; he had entertained the notion, before, of what it might be like to pin him to the wall when he was being his usual infuriating self—referring to Arthur with such disrespect in his tone, not caring for things like titles and how things were  _supposed_  to be done—and kiss him senseless.

  
But to call it love would be a stretch. He just... wanted Merlin to be happy, to have the recognition he deserved, wanted him to live without fear and to live his life peacefully. He wanted to see him smile more, wanted him to stress less, and enjoy the kingdom he choose to call his home. He wanted them to talk more—he found that he  _did_  enjoy Merlin's company in his chambers, just the two of them. Talking about his magic, the things he had done, the things that made him who he was. He had always been particularly close to his manservant—a fact he all but  _guaranteed_  that no other prince in the history of the world could ever claim before, or even  _after,_  him—but now, now that there were no secrets between them, it was—

  
Of course. There was that thing about Morgana knowing about Merlin's magic. Arthur had never quite gotten around to telling Merlin about  _that_ , but, when his eyes were swimming with happiness as he prattled on about this or that to Arthur, tucked away up in his chambers... it just didn't seem to  _matter._

  
And, anyway, Morgana seemed to be keeping quiet. Though she  _did_  watch Merlin out of the corner of her eye when she thought no one was watching, Arthur was sure it was just mild curiosity on her part—Arthur, too, after all, was still insanely curious, still acted like a transfixed child whenever he did some spell or another. It wasn't  _his_  fault, he often grumbled to himself when he thought about how he really shouldn't be watching  _Merlin_ , of all people, with such wonder in his eyes, he had been deprived of this all his life, of watching magic take place, of watching wonderful people do wonderful things with it and whoa—where had  _that_  come from? Merlin was a lot of things, but he was in no way  _wonderful._

  
Still, Arthur would admit to himself, he was coming to enjoy—look forward to, even—these little chats of theirs, and was not looking forward to the day when Merlin would run out of things to tell him. Because he could enjoy Merlin's useless—and  _not so useless_ —prattle without calling it love, couldn't he?

  
*

_  
"Oy—Merlin."_  Gwaine called out down the hallway Merlin had been walking down, Arthur's dinner balanced precariously in his hands. He halted in his movements and turned around, waited for the knight, who was still half-dressed in his chainmail from the day's training session, to catch up to him. When he finally did, he stood across from Merlin, an appreciative look on his face as he gave his friend a grin.

  
"Where are you off to in such a hurry, then?" He asked.

  
"Where else?" Merlin indicated to the platter of food he was carrying. "To feed his highness." He grinned back, rolling his eyes for added effect.

  
Gwaine let out a chuckle, almost forced, gave Merlin a squinty sort of look that Merlin didn't quite recognize before clearing his throat, almost uncomfortable in a way  _Gwaine_  never was.

  
"Is something the matter?" Merlin asked him after a beat.

  
"Not at all, Merlin," He replied, shifting his weight before continuing. "Just wanted to see if you wanted to head out to the tavern with me and the boys tonight after you've been released from the princess' reign for the evening?" He asked, his usual grin back in place.

  
Merlin gave him a small smile, mulling it over for a moment as he readjusted his hold on Arthur's food. As of late, he had been spending every spare moment in Arthur's room—and if they weren't just  _talking_  about everything, that might have sounded quite suggestive—and, well, as much as he would like to spend some time with Gwaine and the others—he felt like he hadn't seen them outside of training and the odd patrol or two in quite a while now—he... Well, he just wanted to spend more time with  _Arthur,_ truth be told.

  
"I don't know, Gwaine..."

  
"Oh, come on!" Gwaine exclaimed. "You've been spending all your time with Arthur these days, I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

  
"I saw you at training just this afternoon." Merlin reminded him, aware that that wasn't  _quite_  what he meant.

  
"But you haven't had a drink with us in weeks now."

  
"I'm not much of a drinker, despite what Arthur might think." Merlin reminded him.

  
"So just come keep us company—the lads all miss you just as much as I do. Come on, one drink, tonight, at the tavern with the rest of us. It won't kill the princess to be without you just for one night, will it?" He asked.

  
"I guess not." Merlin shrugged, persuaded more by the notion of Gwaine letting him get on with his duties than the concept of joining them at the tavern.

  
"Great! We'll meet you there, then?"

  
"Yeah, sure."

  
"Right, see you then." He grinned, turning around and trailing off, seeming to be in a hurry before Merlin could change his mind on things.

  
Merlin sighed, watched him trail off down the hallway for a moment before turning back around to finish the journey to Arthur's room. Neither of them would much like him ducking out early that night, but, if it would keep the knights off their backs, keep suspicions away, then he would go, just to keep Gwaine from popping his head into Arthur's room during one of their little  _chats—_

_  
Suspicions_ _._

_  
God_.

  
Merlin felt his face heat up at the word, remembering when Lancelot had cornered him in Arthur's room just the other day.

_  
"I'm asking... if you're in love with Arthur."_

  
He could still hear the question, could still see Lancelot's face when he asked, gentle and wondering and  _safe,_ promising, silently, that he would keep that secret as well—because that was what Lancelot  _did_ , he kept secrets and he was there for Merlin; he was one of the best friends he ever had, was like a brother to him, really. But, admitting it to himself was hard enough most days, admitting it to Lancelot—even though he was  _Lancelot_ —was... something else entirely.

  
"Lancelot..." He had sighed, shaking his head in something like defeat, adverting his eyes.

  
"I won't tell anyone, you  _know_  that."

  
"I know, but... I  _can't_..."

  
"It's all right, Merlin." He had said gently. "It's  _all right."_

  
Merlin had closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, took in a breath of air that still smelled like  _Arthur_ before opening them again and sighing with defeat. Sod it all, this was  _Lancelot_ , it wasn't like he was going to be like Gwaine and spread it all over the castle or anything...

  
"Yes." He had said, breathing easy with the word, with telling someone, with knowing that that  _someone_  would protect that secret with his life. "I... am." He had nodded, letting his eyes come up to Lancelot's, to the way they didn't widen with shock or knowing or anger, just the way they were...  _understanding._

  
There was a silence that passed between them, halfway between comfortable and not, and it left Merlin with a odd sort of feeling. He had expected a reaction of some sort, had expected... Well, okay, he wasn't entirely  _sure_  what sort of reaction he had been expecting, but... He had been expecting something other than  _silence,_ at least.

  
"You're not... going to tell me I should tell him or try to console me or anything?" Merlin had asked then.

  
Lancelot had shaken his head softly. "I know you better than that, Merlin." He had smiled sadly. "But... if you ever want to talk about it, about  _him,_ " He nodded to the door. "You know I'm always here for you."

  
And that had been it. They had left the room and Merlin had gone off to run Gaius' errands and Lancelot had gone off to find the other knights. It was so simple, such a freeing sort of conversation, but...

  
It was still complicated, wasn't it? Even if it seemed so simple right now, it would become complicated soon enough—it always did. _  
_

  
Finally, though, Merlin came back to the present, came to Arthur's room, entered without knocking and crossed to the table where he always put his food, and decided to put his conversation with Lancelot out of his mind for the moment—for the rest of the night, if possible. It had been plaguing him for so many days now, muddling his thoughts, clouding his judgement, he just... Needed to forget about it. Spending less time with Arthur would probably help him  _truly_  forget, but that wasn't an option—not really.

  
"You're late." Arthur said almost teasingly, stepping out from across the room, shrugging into a new shirt, and if Merlin hadn't been so preoccupied, he might have made a comment about Arthur finally remembering how to put a shirt on all on his own.

  
"Sorry," Merlin shrugged in response, watching Arthur take his seat and start in on his meal, nodding for Merlin to take the seat across from him like he had taken to doing lately.

  
"Sit down and finish that story you were telling me last night—something about Nimueh?" Arthur said, expectant, almost  _impatient,_  with the request.

  
But Merlin remained standing, shifting from foot to foot for a moment, unsure whether he wanted to go down to the tavern after all or just blow the knights off.

  
But he  _had_  promised Gwaine he would go, and Gwaine was a good friend, despite that nasty little rumor he had started, so, Merlin decided, he couldn't do that to him. No matter how badly he wanted to. And anyway, one night away from Arthur wasn't likely to kill either of them, especially considering how quiet things had been lately.

  
"Actually, Arthur," Merlin cleared his throat, eyes catching on Arthur's curiosity filled ones. "I promised Gwaine I would meet him and the others at the tavern tonight—if you don't mind, I mean." He added quickly, because Arthur, too, seemed to be enjoying their time together, even if it wasn't quite in the same way and for the same reason as Merlin. He would hate blowing off the knights, his friends, but he would also hate to skip out on Arthur if he really wanted him around...

  
"Oh." Arthur nodded between bites, his face falling slightly.

  
"I don't have to, though—if you need me here, they can't really be mad at me for doing my job." Merlin insisted, his words rushed, cheeks painted with embarrassment from adding it so quickly.

  
Arthur glanced up at him, seemed to be weighing his words, his choices, before nodding again, slowly.

  
"It's fine, Merlin. I've been keeping you pretty late recently, haven't I?"

  
"Oh I don't mind it." Merlin told him, grinning sheepishly. "Not one bit. Saves me from having to clean out Gaius' leech tank and all that."

  
Arthur smiled in return, held his eyes in an intense sort of lingering gaze for a moment before he looked back to his food. "I'm  _sure_  the tavern has been missing its favorite patron, anyway." He teased.

  
"You  _know_  I was never actually at the tavern when you thought I was—"

  
"No, but this time you will be, won't you?" Arthur interrupted, looking back up. "Unless this is another lie?"

  
"No." Merlin told him quickly. He knew Arthur was still teasing, but, there was an edge to his voice making the question more serious than anything else he usually asked around this time of night. "No. Gwaine cornered me on my way up here and asked me to join them at the tavern, says he hasn't seen much of me outside of training lately and that they miss my company."

  
" _Miss your company?"_ Arthur snorted. "They should be so lucky!"

_  
"You'll_  miss my company while I'm off at the tavern with them."

  
"Somehow I doubt that."

  
"We'll see." Merlin said, eyes bright with challenge and teasing. "So, if there's nothing else—?" He asked.

  
"Get out of here. I think I can mange to get myself to bed." Arthur told him, waving him off.

  
"Are you sure? Because the last time I left you before you were actually in bed you spilled my secret to Lancelot."

  
"I was  _drunk."_ Arthur insisted on his own behalf, cheeks flushing as Merlin laughed at his expense. "And he already  _knew_ , anyway."

  
"But  _you_  didn't know that." Merlin reminded him, tilting his head in good humor.

  
Arthur rolled his eyes and took a sip from his goblet, glaring at Merlin over the lip of it for a long, light moment before Merlin chuckled under his breath and finally moved from his spot near the table.

  
"Good night, Arthur." He said over his shoulder, walking to the door slowly.

  
"Have fun with your tavern buddies." Arthur called out, still teasing as Merlin opened the door and left the room, rolling his eyes at Arthur's words.

  
As he closed the door and made his way down the familiar hallway, already allowing his feet to carry him on the route to the tavern—he hadn't spent much time there himself, but he  _had_  been with Gaius and the knights and to fetch Gwaine when he got particularly pissed and needed an escort home or whathaveyou—he tried to bite down the feeling that he shouldn't leave Arthur's side that night.

  
It was stupid, really, and he knew it was just him wanting to spend as much time as he could with Arthur, fill his head with everything he had ever wanted to tell him but had been unable to in their years together—he just wanted to be selfish, just a little bit—but there was something there, just on the edge of his mind—one of those  _funny feelings_ , as Arthur liked to call them, telling him that going to the tavern was the last thing he needed to do right now. But it was so quiet in Camelot lately—not even  _Morgana_  was acting up—so, honestly, what harm could it do to spend time with a few friends who missed his company?

  
As he kept telling himself, as Gwaine had told him: one night away from Arthur wasn't about to kill anybody.

  
*

  
It took  _days_  longer than Morgana thought it would to find the chance to get into Arthur's room— _days._ Because that troublesome  _Merlin_ was spending so much time with him, doing God knows what well into the night and first thing in the morning. If the rumors going around the castle were to be believed, well... That would certainly explain it.

  
But Morgana wasn't looking to confirm or deny or even pretend to care about rumors such as those. She was just looking to cast a simple little spell. Unfortunately, due to the little upset in her plan, she had had to change a few fine details, adjust the spell accordingly until it was something new entirely. But, she was sure, this one would do the job just as well as the original one would. Perhaps it would even be  _better,_  she mused to herself, because not only would she be able to take care of that meddlesome servant, she might also get some much-needed information out of that half-wit brother of hers—if all went accordingly, of course.

  
Just when she was beginning to grow impatient, when she was about to give up on doing any sort of spell at all and just wait for Morgause to show up again to advise her, Merlin left Arthur's chambers— _actually left_  Arthur's chambers—not too long after bringing him his evening meal one night. She stayed well hidden, however, in the shadows, wondering if he would come back or not, but, after so many long, silent, almost  _agonizing_  moments, he did not return. Smirking into the shadows that hid her well, she knew that this was it, the chance she was waiting for, the moment to finally put her plan into action.

  
And to think, it would all be because Arthur's precious little servant had chosen to take off early one night. How...  _perfect._

  
*

  
"Don't you think you've had enough?" Merlin asked, grinning despite his tone as Gwaine asked the barmaid for another round of mead for him and the knights.

  
They were all—him, Gwaine, Leon, Percival, and Elyan, Lancelot unable to make it that night because he wanted to get up early the following morning for some reason or another he hadn't disclosed to Percival when he asked him to join them, though he suspected it had something to do with Gwen—tucked away in a corner. And, despite Gwaine's tendency to get in the middle of things and start a bit of trouble when he had too much to drink, he had actually managed to stay clear of all that for most of the night so far. He hadn't started any fights or run up an outrageous bar-tab or anything of the such—Merlin was beginning to think that, perhaps, the knights had been a good influence on him.

  
"Ne'er enough, Merlin.  _Ne'er._ " Gwaine slurred, and if Merlin wasn't so amused at the show of good cheer between the lot of them, if he didn't have a fair amount of mead coursing through his own veins as well, he might have been just a tad aggravated that he was stuck watching the lot of Camelot's best knights while they acted like a bunch of drunk babies.

  
"Gwaine's right, Merlin." Leon nodded, his head bobbing long after his words.

  
"And  _that's_ something none of you will  _ever_  say sober." He chuckled in response, his grip on his own pint of mead tightening ever so slightly. He'd been nursing the same one for the better part of the night, but, as he  _was_  a lightweight, what he  _had_  consumed left him feeling rather tingly—not quite drunk or tipsy, just...  _good._ He still had his wits about him, of course—one of them had to—but it did take the edge off, make him forget about that feeling he'd had as he had left Arthur's room, about not wanting to come down to the tavern at all.

  
"Sooo how did Ar'hur," Elyan hiccuped. "Feel about letting you off ea'ly for the night?" he asked, his words slurred but not as bad as Gwaine's were.

  
The barmaid came back then, sat the drinks down in front of everyone but Merlin, smiling prettily at all of them and distracting them momentarily from where Merlin  _knew_  the conversation was about to go, giving him just a moment and a half to prepare himself for when Percival finally asked, switching from Elyan's subtle attempts to just outright  _asking,_

  
"So you an' Arthur, 'uh?"

  
"What about us?" Merlin asked, feigning ignorance on the subject, though he had been subjected, over the last few days, to the rumors and whisperings among the servants and the halls of the various things he was "known" to do for Arthur that were outside the line of duty. Mostly, he rolled his eyes at them and ducked his head, trying to stay out of the conversations, but there were things the men would say when his back was turned, that the women would whisper about behind their hands, that made him blush madly for hours on end when they danced so carelessly through his ears.  _Honestly..._

  
"You know very well  _what."_ Leon almost snickered.

  
"I don't think so."

  
" _Merrrrlin_." Gwaine droned, taking a long sip of his mead. "We're you' friiiiiends. You're s'pposed to tell us st'ff like thiiiis."

  
Merlin rolled his eyes, took a dreg of his warming mead, though it had long since passed the point where it even slightly appealed to him, he needed something to do, just to keep them off him for a second.

  
"There's nothing to tell—you know we're just friends." He said when he finally sat his cup back down.

  
"But why've you been spendin' so much time in his cham'ers lately?" Percival asked.

  
"We've just been talking."

  
"About what?" Elyan wondered.

  
"Just... things. You know.  _Things."_ He waved his hand in an abstract manner, his cheeks warming as he grappled for an excuse—any excuse, really, would do, because the knights weren't exactly the sharpest swords there ever were when they had enough mead or liquor in them.

  
"'Kin'a  _things?"_ Leon asked.

  
"I don't know, chores, battle stories, and things like that—you know Arthur just likes to hear himself talk sometimes."

  
The others all nodded, seemed to accept the answer and let the subject drop for some time, another subject coming up and distracting their drunken minds before it could be pressed further, and Merlin was glad for that, his embarrassment passing as he let himself get distracted by the others' drunken ramblings and thoughts that wouldn't make much sense when reflected upon in the morning but that, tonight, in the glow of mead and their friendship, sounded completely fine to all.

  
After some time, Merlin managed to convince them to head back to the castle— _he_  had to get up relatively early compared to them, thank you very much, and would appreciate getting at least  _some_  sleep, and he couldn't, in all good conscious, leave them to their own devices away from the castle and their rooms like that—and fell to the back of the group as they staggered back, leaning on one another for support and chuckling and giggling about this or that.

  
Just when they entered the castle and made to go their separate ways—Merlin one way, the knights the other—Gwaine fell back and into step with Merlin, tittering about something Percival had said with his usual grin and a chuckle in his voice as he recounted the tale for Merlin. He laughed along with him, shaking his head as they walked towards Gaius', not bothered that Gwaine would choose to wander the castle for a bit longer with him than go back to his own chambers, as he had oft admitted to Merlin that he found the path to Merlin's chambers much more comfortable and familiar than the one to his own, fonder memories of his first visit through Camelot bringing him that way often enough.

  
However, when they finally arrived to his door, Gwaine grew silent and still, a sudden somberness over-taking his face when Merlin turned to him, half of a curious grin on his face as he wondered what was keeping his friend from his chattiness.

  
Before he could properly question it, however, Gwaine asked him, with a seriousness in his voice that Merlin hardly heard from him when he had this much to drink, "So... you an' Arthur—just friends, right?"

  
"Yeah, Gwaine, you know that." He was the one, after all, who had started those rumors in the first place, so why did he need reassuring? Why did he  _want_  reassuring?

  
"You don't have  _any_  feeli'gs for him whatsoever?" He asked insistently, almost pleadingly.

  
Merlin gaped at him, a crease in his brow, his neck heating up with the question as he opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out, leaving him standing there with his mouth in the shape of an 'o'. Why did everyone insist on asking him about that, he wondered briefly, a surge of panic flowing through him as he realized he hadn't said anything in response and, to a sharper, less drunk Gwaine, that would have been all the answer he needed. However, at the moment, Gwaine seemed to take his silence as something else, as he mumbled something to himself, nodded his head, and, before Merlin knew what was happening, had leaned forward and kissed Merlin's still open mouth.

  
It was sloppy, hurried, and left Merlin with confusion and the taste of stale laughter and mead when Gwaine pulled back, seeming to collect himself through whatever fog there was still around him when Merlin made no move to respond in any sort of way. He muttered a sort of apology and turned around to leave quickly, throwing Merlin a longing sort of glance over his shoulder before disappearing down the steps and out of sight.

  
Merlin blinked after him for a moment, unmoving, thoughts racing with what had just happened and what it would mean for their friendship, and, perhaps worse yet, what it might mean for him and Arthur, and Gwaine and Arthur—they  _were_  brothers in arms, after all. But that would... No, why would Arthur mind or put much thought into it at all? Those rumors were just rumors and the feelings were completely one-sided on Merlin's part. Arthur wouldn't mind in the least—if he ever found out, anyway, because why would Arthur even need to  _know?_  Merlin certainly didn't feel like discussing one of his best friends kissing him in such a state of intoxication with  _anyone,_  let alone Arthur. If Gwaine even remembered it in the morning, he supposed  _they_  might talk about it, and he might tell Lancelot, if he  _needed_  to talk about it with anyone, but Arthur? Nope. That wasn't the sort of thing he wanted to discuss with Arthur  _at all._

  
As he let himself in and slipped off to his room so as not to wake Gaius, he sighed to himself, thoughts still racing so, with just one cropping up from the tangled mess of his mind:

  
Everything was  _always_ so complicated.

  
*

 

* * *

 


	13. Truest of Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin sighed, he knew by now that there really was no point trying to hide anything from Lancelot. "He kissed me."

* * *

 

  
*

  
Arthur had gone to sleep surprisingly early the night before. Without Merlin to keep him company with his stories and tales, his secrets and no-longer lies, he found himself growing bored sooner than he might have and saw himself off to bed with lingering thoughts of perhaps maybe going down to the tavern to join his men for a round or two. He was, however, fast asleep before he could act on such absurd thoughts.

  
But then he woke up the following morning, feeling somehow…  _Different_. He was still the same Arthur Pendragon, of course, but there was something about him, about the way he  _felt_  that made him pause and 'hmm' through-out breakfast, barely aware of Merlin's chattering and how it, too, was somehow different than it usually was. He spent the better part of the meal trying to place the feeling, his banter with Merlin only half-hearted and, he would admit, not quite what it usually was.

  
It was all just…  _off._

  
There was a tugging sort of feeling within, something just not quite right and he almost wanted to ask Merlin about it— _almost_ —but decided, at the last moment, to just leave it be—it was probably nothing and would only give Merlin something to tease him about, as though he didn't have enough of that as it was.

  
It wasn't until they were walking down the corridor, on their way to train with the knights, not much longer later that Merlin finally seemed to perk up ever so slightly, catching on to Arthur and his sullenness at last—and Arthur wouldn't admit he'd been waiting for such a thing to happen, had been waiting for Merlin to catch on and ask about it.

  
"Is everything all right, sire?" He asked, his eyebrows brought together with the worrying sort of question.

  
"Not really." Arthur said, surprising even himself—he hadn't meant— _of course_  he had meant to lie about it; it wasn't anything to worry Merlin with, after all.

  
"Oh? What's wrong then? Miss me last night after all?" He asked, grinning slightly to himself.

  
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, but that's not the problem." And he  _really_  hadn't meant to tell him  _that_ — _Nope._  No, something was definitely wrong with him—perhaps that feeling…

  
"Oh?" Merlin looked taken aback at the admission, probably just as surprised as Arthur was at what was coming out of his mouth that morning. "So… erm, what  _is_  the problem, then?"

  
"I—"

  
And thank  _God_  for Elyan walking up to them just then, meeting them just outside the armory, because Arthur didn't know what was about to come out of his mouth, but he  _knew_  it would not have been good for him.

  
"Sorry, Arthur, but do you mind if I borrow Merlin for a moment?" Elyan asked, patting Merlin on the shoulder with the question.

  
"No, please, go right ahead." He sighed with relief, avoiding the almost  _hurt_  look that flashed across Merlin's face before he smoothed it out and nodded at Elyan. "I'll see you both out on the field in a few minutes." He added, quickly turning and ducking into the armory to gather a few odds and ends but, mostly, to gather his wits. What was going on with him, and why did he have a terrible,  _terrible_  feeling about it?

  
*

  
"Did you need something?" Merlin asked Elyan a moment after the door to the armory closed and the pair of them were left alone, his eyes lingering for a long moment on the heavy wooden door after Arthur disappeared behind it. To say Arthur was acting peculiar would be an understatement, but Merlin couldn't be sure what had brought on such a mood…

  
"Actually," Elyan began the second Merlin turned to face him, forcing himself to focus on Elyan and what he might need and not Arthur or Gwaine or anything else, at the moment. He just needed a reprieve from worrying for a moment. "I wanted to talk to you about Lancelot."

  
"What about him?" Merlin asked, every fiber of his being now focused on Elyan now that he had mentioned his friend. Now that he had mentioned Lancelot, Merlin had an idea of what he could want— _of course_  he did, knowing his friends, knowing what was going on with the lot of them, with Gwen and Lancelot specifically.

  
"He came to me this morning, for my permission to court Gwen." Elyan said slowly.

  
"Oh!" Merlin nodded several times, letting that bit of news sink in. It wasn't much of a surprise, of course, and Merlin hadn't even thought Lancelot would go to Elyan until they were ready for the engagement, but... hadn't he already started courting her? Perhaps not technically, but, still…

  
"Do you… not approve or—?" Merlin asked, confused. Surely this was something he would want to discuss with the pair of them, not him?

  
"I just…" Elyan made a thoughtful sort of face before continuing. "I thought her and Arthur—I don't want to upset him or anything, but I want her to be  _happy—he_  makes her happy, right?" He asked then, eyes wondering and full of the hope that Merlin might know the answer.

  
"Yeah, of course," Merlin nodded enthusiastically. "Lancelot, you mean, right?"

  
"Well, yes—but does Arthur—?"

  
"You should probably talk to them about this, but, as her friend, can I say something?"

  
"Of course, that's why I wanted to talk to you." Elyan said, sincere in his tone, almost enthusiastically, if that was possible.

  
"Gwen," Merlin sighed and looked down the empty corridor, wanting to be sure they were alone before talking further about such a subject. "She's…  _happy_  with Lancelot. I don't know if you've ever paid much attention, but, whenever they're together or when she's just come from spending time with him, she's  _glowing_  she's so happy. Lancelot… he makes her  _happy._  Happier than Arthur ever could. So I wouldn't worry about him not making her happy. And Arthur has already given them his blessing, in his own way. He understands that Lancelot makes her happy and he—well, not like Lancelot does—it was never really like  _that_  for them—not really."

  
Elyan nodded, thoughtful for a moment, the silence settling between them heavily as he seemed to chew it all over. How he could ever doubt that  _Lancelot_  made his sister happy was beyond Merlin, but he  _had_  been busy with the whole knight thing as of late—perhaps he'd just been without enough time to notice something of the sort? Especially considering Gwen still lived in their childhood home and he lived in the castle, in the knights quarters.

  
"Thank you, Merlin." Elyan said at last. "That really helps."

  
"Oh anytime." He grinned, and then he turned with Elyan to go into the armory at last, his mind drifting, momentarily, to the way things were changing around him, around all of them—the world itself was beginning to change, he could feel it in his  _bones—_ and how it was so out of his control that it would be terrifying if he wasn't so used to things like Destiny and Fate being in control of his life by now.

  
*

  
Training was hard. Routine and  _hard_  because, whatever was going on with Arthur, he took it into training with him and worked everyone twice as hard as usual—including Merlin. If the knights hadn't taken pity on him about half-way through the session and asked Arthur if they might have a go at some sword-fighting instead, there wasn't a doubt in Merlin's mind that he would still be wearing that  _ridiculous_  helmet, holding that target for all of them to have a go at him, instead of sitting off to the side, sharpening the odd few swords and waiting for the ringing in his ears to go away.

  
What was worse, Gwaine could hardly look him in the eye, Arthur barely said five words to him at a time other than the odd command or two—and he didn't even know  _why—_ Elyan still seemed distracted by thoughts of Lancelot and Gwen, Lancelot was worried and distracted but somehow elated and happy all at once—honestly, the only ones acting like their normal selves were Leon and Percival, and even  _Percival_  seemed distracted by Gwaine's reluctant silence and inability to say anything to Merlin.

  
Honestly, was it too much to ask to just… have all the knights act like the fearless  _knights_ they were supposed to be for five minutes? Long enough for Merlin to get a handle on  _anything_ that was going on, at least?

  
"Merlin?" Gwaine began, a small, hesitant grin on his face as he approached Merlin and the pair of swords he was sharpening.

  
Merlin grinned at him, glad that Gwaine was speaking to him at last—at  _least_. Despite whatever lingering embarrassment there might have been from the previous night, Gwaine was still his friend and he still missed him, even if it hadn't even been that long yet.

  
He took in Gwaine's appearance out of habit to check for injuries or whathaveyou that he might need to tend to, but, other than the way he was holding his arm, everything about him was the same as it usually was.

  
"What's—"

  
"Just a little accident with the big fella over there." He said, jerking his head in Percival's direction, who was smiling apologetically towards them before turning his attention to Leon, who now seemed to have the misfortune of fighting against him.

  
"What happened?" Merlin sighed, making room on the bench for Gwaine to sit down on.

  
"Dislocated my shoulder—nothing too bad." He said, looking as though he wanted to shrug it off but, for obvious reasons, could not.

  
Merlin bit his lip, looked him over for a short moment, hands fluttering to inspect the damage. Gwaine winced when his hand came into contact with it but he said nothing, his eyes careful and watching Merlin closely, unreadably.

  
"We should get you to Gaius." Merlin declared after a moment.

  
"Don't you know how to fix it?" Gwaine asked, half teasing with the question.

  
"Yes, but… I don't want to mess up and hurt you." He shrugged. He had been training under Gaius for some years now, but… he would never be a true physician—not really—so when he had the choice, he would always send someone to Gaius rather than leave them to be treated by himself.

  
"It's all right, Merlin, I trust you."

  
Merlin gave him a long look, but Gwaine wouldn't budge on the matter, so he relented after some moments and stood up, put the swords to the side, and had the knight lay on the bench so he could use a technique taught to him by Gaius to pop his shoulder back into place. Gwaine let lose a muttered stream of profanities that made Merlin wince for him after it was done; he was sure Gaius could have given Gwaine something to help with the pain, but he wouldn't go to him for it, for some ridiculous reason, so he would just had to deal with it for the time being.

  
"Okay, that should do it." Merlin said, coaxing him into a sitting position and checking the swelling. "But you should still go see Gaius anyway; he can give you some herbs to help with the lingering pain and swelling. You'll have to wear a sling for a week or so, lay off the training and stay out of tavern fights, but you should be okay after that."

  
"Right," Gwaine said, nodding and rubbing his sore shoulder with his good hand. "Thank you, Merlin."

  
"Yeah, erm," Merlin squirmed slightly, adverting his eyes to the other knights, to the way they were only half training, half messing around, teasing each other about something or another; though they were  _all_  preoccupied and distracted by problems of their own, they all seemed to be able to push it out of their minds when they were training or fighting. Sometimes, Merlin wished he had that sort of luxury. "You're welcome."

  
Gwaine made no move to leave after that, just sat in silence with Merlin watching the others for a few moments. Merlin almost wanted to say something, wanted the heavy silence to dissipate and for them to be able to just  _talk_  while they sat there, but... What could he say? "I don't know why you kissed me last night but do you want to talk about it?" or "Do you remember throwing yourself at me outside of Gaius' chambers last night after we came back from the tavern?" No. He couldn't come right out and say any of that, could he?

  
So, instead, he picked up one of the swords he had been sharpening before Gwaine came over and got back to it, the familiar rhythm of it soothing something within him enough that he could almost forget about it all.

  
After another moment, Gwaine reached for the sword sitting between them and started absent-mindedly sharpening it as well, his technique surprising steady and careful when Merlin observed him for a moment.

  
"You should rest your shoulder, Gwaine." Merlin told him, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

  
"And let you have all the fun?" He teased. "I don't think so. Sharpening one sword so my best mate in the world has a little less work to do isn't likely to pop it back out of its place, Merlin." He added, nodding to his shoulder as he continued his work.

  
Merlin chuckled and allowed him to continue on in silence, grinning as he went back to his own work. Maybe the kiss didn't mean anything at all, he mused to himself, maybe it had just been a mistake and they would never have to talk about it ever again...

  
"I'm sorry about last night."

  
Unless, of course, Gwaine brought it up, slowing his movements, looking up at Merlin almost  _too_  casually like that. And then...  _then_ they would  _have_  to talk about it.

  
"It's, uhm..." Merlin looked up at him, trying to smile and shake it off but, somehow, unable to find it in himself to do it. "You were drunk, it's—"

  
"I won't hide behind that, Merlin, I won't use that as an excuse." Gwaine interrupted, his gaze intense when he looked up from his sword. "What kind of man would do that? Brush off something  _he_  did as something that the mead made him do just to avoid the consequences? That's not who I've ever wanted to be, Merlin. I always accept responsibility for the things I do, even when I'm drunk—whether that's settling a debt or kissing my best friend."

  
"What about all those tavern fights you've been known to run from?"

  
"Never drunk when I started  _those."_  Gwaine grinned, but it wasn't fooling Merlin, he could still see how nervous he was about this, how anxious it was making him. One of the perks, he supposed, of  _really_  knowing someone, was being able to read them, even when they would rather you could not. "So, this is me apologizing for that, Merlin; I didn't mean—well, I meant to kiss you, I suppose, but not like that. I..." He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry—are we still friends?"

  
"Of course," Merlin told him. "But what did you mean—"

  
"How's the shoulder doing?" Arthur asked, sauntering up to the pair of them with Lancelot at his side, Leon, Percival, and Elyan still working on something or another out on the field with a handful of other knights. He handed his sword off to Merlin who inspected it to see if it would need sharpening  _now_  or if it could wait until later when he could do it without much else other than a blink. Deciding it could wait, he stowed it off to the side and put the sword he'd just finished sharpening away as well, took the one from Gwaine, and gave Arthur the space on the bench just between himself and Gwaine that Arthur, for whatever reason, wanted for himself.

  
"Fine. Merlin popped it right back into place—eh, Merlin?"

  
"Yeah," Merlin nodded. "But it's not  _fine._ I told him he needs to go see Gaius for some herbs and a sling—he'll need to lay off of training and tavern brawls for at least a week and keep his arm in a sling for just as long." He looked at Gwaine over Arthur's head at the  _tavern_  bit and watched his friend chuckle, ducking his head for a moment before shaking his head and glancing to the other knights.

  
"I never asked," Arthur said suddenly, turning to look at Merlin as he tugged at one of his gloves, a line of agitation appearing just over his eyes. "How was the  _tavern_  last night, mm?"

  
Merlin rolled his eyes at the tone. Whatever had been wrong with Arthur before, he now seemed better. Or at least, he could muster up the teasing tone that had been missing for most of the morning.

  
"Fine." Merlin shrugged in response. He had cleared the air with Gwaine—for the moment, anyway—so Arthur definitely  _did not_  need to know what had happened, did not need to know that one of his knights had kissed his manservant and then admitted that he  _had_  meant to do it, just not drunk—Merlin himself didn't even know how to deal with  _that_  bit yet...

  
"So we didn't miss anything, then?" Lancelot asked, and the question was innocent enough, Merlin knew, but it caused him to blush and duck his head when  _Lancelot_  asked it. From the nervous cough Gwaine let out, Merlin knew it had had the same effect on him, as well.

  
"Nope." Merlin said quickly, nervously, but if either of them believed him...

  
"What happened?" Arthur asked, narrowing his eyes at the pair of them in turn.

  
"Why do you think—"

  
"You're both acting...  _strange._  Stranger than usual, I mean. So what's happened?"

  
"Nothing." Gwaine and Merlin answered in unison.

  
"You should  _really_  go see Gaius before the swelling gets worse." Merlin added hurriedly, nodding to Gwaine.

  
Gwaine merely nodded and stood up, bid them all farewell and sauntered off towards the castle, hopefully to go find Gaius, though Merlin couldn't be too sure. He would, more likely than not, just have to take the herbs and sling to the knight himself later on, he supposed.

  
"What the hell is going on with you two?" Arthur asked—no,  _demanded_ —as soon as Gwaine was out of ear-shot.

  
Merlin made a face, taken aback by his tone. Lancelot took Gwaine's empty seat on the other side of Arthur, his curiosity filled gaze wandering between the pair of them, and Leon and Percival's fight to try to come off as uninterested as possible.

 _  
"Nothing_  is going on, Arthur."

  
"I don't believe you." He declared.

  
Lancelot flashed Merlin a look then, just as surprised as he was at the outburst. Acting odd when it was just the two of them was one thing, but since when did Arthur allow himself such behavior in front of his knights? Even if that knight  _was_  Lancelot...

  
" _What is wrong with you today?_ " Merlin asked instead of addressing the issue Arthur wanted to deal with.

  
" _I don't know."_ He growled in frustration, and then he stood up and stormed off without another word to either of them, leaving his knights to train on their own—an uncharacteristic thing for Arthur, of all people, to do.

  
"What..." Lancelot asked, shaking his head slightly as he moved over on the bench towards Merlin.

  
"I don't know. He's been acting weird all day." Merlin shrugged, watching Arthur for just a moment longer before he turned back to Lancelot. "So you and Gwen..." He trailed off, grinning slightly as he changed the subject.

  
"Yes. I..." Lancelot looked to Elyan and then back to Merlin. "I've asked Elyan's permission to court her." He admitted, almost shy with the admission.

  
"I heard. Has he given you his blessing yet?"

  
"No, not yet. Where did you—"

  
"Elyan. He, uhm, wanted to talk just before training," Merlin said, wondering, a moment too late, if he should mention his conversation with Elyan at all. "He wanted to know if you made her happy—and I told him that you do. Told him you make her  _very_  happy indeed."

  
"Thank you, Merlin." Lancelot said, holding his gaze for a long moment to communicate what that must have meant to him. "I appreciate that."

  
"You're welcome. But... I thought you had already started all that—you know, courting her, wooing her, that sort of thing?"

  
"I have, but..." he shrugged. "I wanted to do it the right way—wanted her family's blessing, and since Elyan is her only family, I wanted his permission before things went any further."

  
Merlin nodded again and returned to watching the other knights. Leon took notice of Arthur's absence and shot Merlin a look of question. When Merlin merely shrugged in response and nodded towards the castle, he nodded in return and took charge of the others, ordered them to do some drill that Arthur hadn't had them do in a while now.

  
"So what happened with Gwaine last night?" Lancelot asked then, drawing Merlin's attention back to him. "And don't say  _nothing_ ; Arthur was right, the pair of you were acting strange."

  
Merlin sighed, he knew by now that there really was no point trying to hide anything from Lancelot. "He kissed me."

  
Lancelot's mouth dropped open slightly, at a loss for words.

  
"Yeah. He was drunk, and... he kissed me. And then, today, he apologized, he said—said he was sorry it happened  _like that._ Said he  _wanted_  to kiss me, but not  _like that._  What do you make of  _that?"_ He asked, exasperated.

  
Lancelot let out a long breath as he shook his head. "Clearly, Merlin," He said at last. "Your romantic life is a  _mess."_

  
And then Merlin  _laughed_. "You have  _no idea."_

  
*

  
"You said you had news, sister?" Morgause asked, almost impatient with the question when she met her sister in the woods, the air heavy with a fog, sky above them dark with an empty moon.

  
Morgause didn't like this, didn't like meeting Morgana so close to Camelot. She didn't much like meeting her inside the castle, either, but somehow, protected by a ceiling and four walls made a rendezvous like this feel a bit safer—if her sister was caught with Morgause  _inside_  the castle, after all, it would be easy to make up some excuse like Morgause had cornered her, but out in the forest... It was harder to cover up if a patrol caught them like this.

  
But still, she had received word from Morgana just that afternoon that she needed to speak with her quite urgently that evening, so she had brushed Cenred off, their plans almost complete, and slipped out with the last few rays of sunset to meet at their usual spot near the citadel.

  
"Yes." Morgana said, almost giddy with the word. Since discovering the secret of that servant's magic, Morgana had had something of a dark cloud hanging over her, her anger and hatred almost palpable, but now— _now_  something was different, something almost lighter and excited about her.

  
Which meant she had done something.

  
"What have you done, sister?"

  
Morgana smiled at her, a shadow of a smirk, and walked closer to her, her cloak trailing dangerously behind her.

  
"A spell. On my dear brother." She said simply, almost proud with the words.

  
But Morgause knew better. Her sister had great potential, but her magic was still so unrefined, she had so little training, so little practice and study that she should not have been performing spells on her own just yet. And even if her magic  _was_  more powerful, Morgause still would have preferred her not to do such things; when it came to her feelings, Morgana would sometimes act without thinking of the consequences. If Morgana had performed some sort of spell on Arthur without consulting with Morgause first... It was very likely to interfere with the plan  _she_  had been constructing with Cenred.

  
"What sort of spell?" Morgause demanded, her tone harsh enough to cause her sister to take half a step back and look at her with a wounded expression. Morgause sighed. "What did you do to our young prince, dearest sister?" She asked instead, her tone more the one Morgana was used to.

  
Morgana nodded, her twisted smile returning to her face as she answered.

  
"I performed a spell on him... to make him reveal his truest of truths." She said, proud of herself in that moment.

  
"'Truest of truths'?" Morgause asked, wondering at the spell she might have—

_  
Truest of truths._

  
"Sister..." Morgause sighed the moment it came to her.

  
She'd heard of such spells, but she had never attempted to perform one herself. They were such... tricky spells, so advanced, so fickle, that it was always just easier to torture people to get what information she wanted out of them. Morgause herself could perform the spell if she needed to, but Morgana... If she had done it herself—which she had, as Morgause had not been there to help her—it was likely that she had messed it up in some way. That wouldn't be the worst thing in the world—whatever harm befell the Pendragon and servant boy did not concern her in the least—but, for Morgause's and Cenred's plan to  _work,_  they both needed to be alive for a while longer. And if Morgana did what Morgause suspected she had, if she had messed it up in such a way...

  
The boy, at least, might be dead within the day.

  
*

  
"I think something might be wrong with Arthur." Merlin said as he walked briskly into Gaius' chambers. "And I know, I say that a lot, but I mean it this time: something isn't right with him. I can  _feel it."_  He finished, loosening his scarf slightly as he placed his hands on his hips, watching Gaius as he went about eating his dinner as he'd been doing before Merlin had barged in. Merlin looked around, wondered why half the table was empty. "Where's mine?" He asked, sitting down at his usual spot.

  
"You've been dining with Arthur so often lately, I've stopped putting your food down at all; if you want it, you'll have to get it from the pot." Gaius told him.

  
Merlin nodded, a spark of guilt lighting within him at Gaius' tone, the look on his face. He was as good as a son to Gaius and here he was, completely ignoring him, skipping meals with him, just to regale tales and secrets to Arthur. The only reason he was even in there that night, he admitted to himself as he retrieved his dinner and took his seat across from Gaius once again, was because Arthur had sent him away early. It had stung, of course, as he'd been looking forward to spending the night with him and finishing that story from the other night for him, but it was all just as well; Arthur  _had_  been acting weird all day, and Merlin needed to get to the bottom of it.

  
"What's wrong with Arthur now?" Gaius asked as Merlin settled in and began to eat. He had almost forgotten what a good stew Gaius made, in just a few short days of skipping dinner with him.

  
"I don't know, exactly." Merlin admitted. "He's just... not himself. It's like... almost like he  _can't lie."_

  
One of Gaius' eyebrows crept up on his forehead in disbelief, silently urging Merlin to continue.

  
"All day, I mean," He began again. "Someone would ask him something and he would be surprised at the answer that came out of his mouth, like he was expecting to say something different entirely. And there was no teasing, no banter,  _at all—_ if I said something meant as a joke a serious answer would come out of his mouth—and he didn't even insult me  _once."_

  
"Not  _once?"_ Gaius asked, seeming more interested than he had just a moment before with Merlin's last statement.

  
"Not once." Merlin confirmed with a blithe shake of his head.

  
"Well, this  _is_  serious, isn't it?"

  
"Do you think..." Merlin began suddenly, a new thought occurring to him. "That Morgana  _knows?_  About me? About my magic?"

  
"I don't see how she  _would."_ Gaius said, trying to placate the worry, the panic, in Merlin's tone. "You said Arthur wouldn't tell any one."

  
"He wouldn't. Well, not sober, but only myself and Lancelot were ever alone with him that night and he's not been drunk since. But..."

  
"But what?"

  
" _But..._ those men we fought, the day Arthur found out... Do you think any of them might have seen anything, might have told Morgause or Cenred about it?"

  
Gaius' face, then, reflected something like the cold, icy fear that was running through  _Merlin_  at the prospect. Because if Morgana knew... if  _Morgana and Morgause knew..._

  
*

  
"If they  _do_  know," Merlin said later that evening, wandering around with an open spell book as Gaius went about preparing a few remedies he would need the following day. "What do you think they've done to Arthur and  _why?_ What sort of spell makes it so a person cannot lie? And why would they even  _want_  to do that to him? If they know, wouldn't it be easier for Morgana to just turn me in to Uther and have me killed? At least  _then_  I'd be out of her way and she'd have a clear shot at Arthur and Uther and the throne—it doesn't make  _any sense_. Morgause is far too clever for something like this, but what else but a spell could explain Arthur's strange behavior today? And who else would even get close enough to him to do it?" He mused, mumbling more to himself than Gaius at that point.

  
Gaius sighed loud enough for Merlin to cease his pacing, frowning slightly as he turned to him. "What do you think it is?" He asked then.

  
Gaius sighed again and put down a tincture he was working on before he turned to face his ward. "I'm not quite sure," he admitted. "But I  _do_  know that you're not going to find the answer before you know more about the sort of spell it  _might be_ —do you know how many spells there are out there that make it impossible for a person to lie? You're going to need to know more about this particular type of spell, and to do that, you'll need—"

 

"—to keep an eye on Arthur until I can figure it out. Right." Merlin nodded, snapping the book in his hand shut as an act of finality and resignation. Spending time with Arthur wasn't exactly the worst thing in the world, but, because of this spell,  _he_  wasn't likely to want to spend much time with Merlin, probably too afraid of what he might blurt out.

  
He didn't consider, in that moment, who Arthur might be speaking with in his absence, what he might admit or blurt out when Merlin was not around to interfere.

  
*  


* * *

 


End file.
